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MRS. 


GASKELL 



MtvxxlVsi iEngIisiI|[ Etxtsi 


CRANFORD 

BY 

MRS. GASKELL 


EDITED WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY 
HELEN ELIZABETH DAVIS, A. B., TEACHER OF 
ENGLISH AT RYE SEMINARY, RYE, NEW YORK 




NEW YORK 

CHARLES E. MERRILL COMPANY 


UlmUl’a lEuglialf tSsxta 



This series of books includes in complete editions those mas- 
terpieces of English Literature that are best adapted for the use 
of schools and colleges. The editors of the several volumes are 
chosen for their special qualifications in connection with the 
texts issued under their individual supervision, but familiarity 
with the practical needs of the classroom, no less than sound 
scholarship, characterizes the editing of every book in the series. 
In connection with each text, the editor has provided a 
critical and historical introduction, including a sketch of the life 
of the author and his relation to the thought of his time, critical 
opinions of the work in question chosen from the great body of 
English criticism, and, where possible, a portrait of the author. 
Ample explanatory notes of such passages in the text as call for 
special attention are supplied, but irrelevant annotation and 
explanations of the obvious are rigidly excluded. 

CHARLES E. MERRILL COMPANY 


Copyright, 1*914 

BY 

CHARLES E. MERRILL CO. 

4 

MAR 24-'l^l4 



V 



0CI.A«69433 


CONTENTS 


Introduction page 

Elizabeth Stevenson Gaskell 5 

Cranford 15 

Critical Opinions 23 

Bibliography for Further Study 25 

Cranford 

I. Our Society 27 

II. The Captain 42 

III. A Love Affair of Long Ago 63 

IV. A Visit to an Old Bachelor 76 

V. Old Letters 92 

VI. Poor Peter 107 

VII. Visiting 124 

VIII. Your Ladyship 139 

IX. Signor Brunoni 158 

X. The Panic 172 

XI. Samuel Brown 192 

XII. Engaged to be Married 208 

XIII. Stopped Payment 220 

XIV. Friends in Need 236 

XV. A Happy Return 261 

XVI. Peace to Cranford 279 

Notes 291 

Questions for Study 301 


3 



INTRODUCTION 


ELIZABETH STEVENSON GASKELL 

We live in an age that is beginning to consider public service 
as one of the essential functions of its womankind and yet fears 
that the performance of this duty will lessen the woman’s effi- 
ciency in her relations as a wife and mother. To us, therefore, 
the experience of Mrs. Gaskell offers an encouraging example, for 
she wrote books that are still eagerly read, she achieved much for 
the betterment of the working folk of Manchester, perhaps of 
all England, and she found her greatest joy as the directing 
genius of a happy family hfe. Mrs. Gaskell hved in the earlier 
stages of those pohtical and industrial changes which have revo- 
lutionized society and especially the life of women. As woman 
was the housekeeper, as she was by nature tender of heart, she 
was looked upon always as the reliance of the sick and needy 
within her gates, but it was not until well on in the eighteenth 
century that she took upon herself much responsibility for hu- 
manity beyond her doors. 

The industrial revolution that has transferred from the home 
to the factory practically all the manufacturing processes — the 
spinning of cotton and yarn, the weaving of cloth and even the 
sewing of garments, the curing of meat, the grinding of grain and 
the baking of bread, the churning of butter, the preserving of 
fruits, and a dozen other processes belonging to the individual 
household in our great grandmothers’ day — that' great exodus of 
work from the home into the factory has widened immeasurably 
the confines of woman’s life. For a large number of women, it 
has meant the transfer of their labors from their own homes, on 
their own materials, for the uses of their own famiUes, to the 

5 


6 


INTRODUCTION 


factory where they perform one small part in the making of an 
article of whose destination they know nothing. For other women 
it has meant primarily leisure. Time now saved by buying 
ready-made goods they have been able to use for society, for 
reading and study, for whatever pursuits their personal tastes 
might dictate. To the more thoughtful, however, this freedom 
from household tasks has gradually brought with it a new land 
of responsibility — responsibihty for the methods by which their 
necessities and their luxuries are made by the workers outside 
their homes. Mrs. GaskelFs hfe in Manchester, the great cotton 
spinning center of England, early gave her this feehng of respon- 
sibility for the workers in the mills. 

Seeking the stimulus of Mrs. GaskelFs social activities, we have 
been led for the moment away from her own history. Her 
maiden name was Ehzabeth Cleghorn Stevenson. She was born 
on September 29th, 1810, in picturesque Lindsay Row, now a part 
of Cheyne Walk, in London; but her childhood was spent with 
her mother^s family at Knutsford in Cheshire, the village she 
later made immortal under the name of Cranford. The father, 
William Stevenson, came originally from Berwick-on-Tweed, and 
a tradition of the Norwegian descent of the family was laughingly 
treasured by his daughter Ehzabeth as the source of her own 
love of adventure. The Viking spirit perhaps showed itself hke- 
wise in the sea-going propensities of the men of the family. 
William Stevenson’s father was a captain and his brother a 
lieutenant in the Royal Navy, while his son, Elizabeth’s brother, 
became a lieutenant in the Merchant Service and, less fortunate 
than the Peter of Cranford, mysteriously disappeared on a sea 
voyage. 

Her father, William Stevenson, however, was possessed of 
quieter tastes. He became a Unitarian minister in Manchester 
and served at the same time as tutor in Greek and Latin at the 
Manchester Academy. Assailed by scruples in regard to receiv- 
ing pay for his work as a minister, he resigned his appointment. 
He then took up farming and soon combined with this occupa- 
tion the management of a private school. Through these years 


ELIZABETH STEVENSON GASKELL 


7 


he published various articles, chiefly on agricultural subjects, in 
the Edinburgh Review and other journals, so that by the time 
he was made Keeper of the Records to the Treasury and went to 
hve in London, he had achieved some httle literary reputation. 

William Stevenson’s wife, Elizabeth Holland, came from a 
family which had been connected with Knutsford for over two 
hundred years. Her home on her father’s farm at Sandle Bridge, 
about three miles from Knutsford, was a delightful old country 
house, the Hope Farm of Cousin Phillis and the Woodley of 
Cranford. ^‘The aspect of the country,” you remember, ‘‘was 
quiet and pastoral. Woodley stood among fields; where roses 
and currant bushes touched each other, and where the feathery 
asparagus formed a pretty background to the pinks and gilly- 
flowers. There was no drive up to the door: we got out at a little 
gate and walked up a straight box-edged path.” Mrs. Stevenson 
died within a month after her daughter’s birth and for a week the 
baby was left to the care of her father and a kindly shopkeeper’s 
wife of the neighborhood. Then she was taken to Knutsford to 
her mother’s sister, Mrs. Lumb, who became virtually a mother 
to the child. 

Elizabeth Stevenson’s childhood in Knutsford in “the large 
red-brick house on the edge of the common” with its “large rooms, 
cozy ingle nooks, and many comfortable window seats ’’^ seems 
to have been happy enough in a quiet way, though lacking in that 
romping play with other children which forms a large part in the 
recollections of most of us. She grew up quietly in a little circle 
of relatives and friends, with visits to her grandfather at Sandle 
Bridge and to her uncle Peter Holland, the good country doctor, 
who lived with his daughters at Church House in Knutsford; and 
with occasional eventful journeys to her father in London. He 
was now married again, not very happily it is thought, and Eliza- 
beth, though always devotedly fond of her father, was never long 
with him. 

At fifteen she was sent to a boarding school at Stratford, where 
in addition to the usual English branches and household accom- 

1 Mrs. E. H. Chadwick: Mrs. Gaskell — Haunts, Homes and Stories, p. 48. 


8 


INTRODUCTION 


plishments, she was taught a little Latin, Itahan, and French, 
which she always greatly hked. Aside from her regular schoohng 
she gained much from the place. The beauty of the Warwick 
lanes and meadows and the poetic associations of the town, with 
its memories of Shakespeare in the timbered houses on Henley 
Street, in the time-worn grammar school, and in the towered 
church by the river, passed into her mind and heart. Her first 
piece of published prose Clopton Hallj contributed in 1838 to 
Howitt^s Visits to Remarkable Places y shows how keenly ahve she 
was to the charm of Warwickshire, past and present. At this 
school the girl lived for two years including the holidays. 

After her school days, though much in Knutsford, she^had no 
settled home. She made somewhat longer visits now to her 
father in London and nursed him through the illness which 
ended in his death in 1829. Two winters thereafter she hved as 
a sort of advanced pupil in the family of the Reverend William 
Turner, a distant connection of her mother’s, a scholarly and 
public spirited Unitarian minister. Another winter she spent in 
Edinburgh. Even in the brilhant society of Edinburgh her 
beauty was recognized, for she had not only the fresh comeliness 
of girlhood but a htheness of figure, a free poise of the finely 
shaped head, a purity of outline in features, a clear steadiness of 
the hazel eyes, a soft delicacy of coloring, and a serenity of ex- 
pression — a serenity obviously backed by a quick sense of hu- 
mor — that made her sought after by sculptors and painters. A 
bust made by Mr. Dunbar at this time has always been con- 
sidered an excellent hkeness. Of several portraits made in the 
course of her fife that by George Richmond is probably the best. 
It is reproduced as frontispiece to this volume. 

In 1832 came the great event of Elizabeth Stevenson’s fife. On 
August 30th, in the Parish Church at Knutsford, she was married 
to William Gaskell, joint minister of the Unitarian chapel in 
Cross Street, Manchester. He was the son of a wealthy manu- 
facturer and by education and nature a man of genuine culture 
and religious feehng. He held important executive offices in the 
Unitarian church, especially in connection with the Home Mis- 


ELIZABETH STEVENSON GASKELL 


9 


sionary Board and its training school for ministers, Manchester 
New College. Here for several years he served as professor of 
Enghsh history and hterature. In the evening classes of Owens 
College also he was lecturer on Enghsh literature, and his suc- 
cessor, Professor A. W. Ward, testifies to his high popularity with 
the? students. He says of him also, ^‘He was a remarkably hand- 
some man and the refinement and charm of his manner were well 
set off by a dignified reserve.’’ ^ He possessed hterary ability, 
as is shown especially in his hymns, some original, others trans- 
lated from the German, and he always took a hvely interest in 
his wife’s writing. 

The identification of Mrs. Gaskell’s interests with her husband’s 
through the early years of their marriage was complete. She 
accompanied him on long drives to preachings in towns near 
Manchester and she went with him to visit the sick and the poor 
among his congregation. Their acquaintance with working peo- 
ple and their interest in poetry treating of humble life led to an 
interesting collaboration. In a letter to Mrs. Howitt of August, 
1838, Mrs. Gaskell wrote: — 

^^We once thought of trying to write sketches among the poor 
rather in the manner of Crabbe (now don’t think this presump- 
tuous), but in a more seeing-beauty spirit; and one — the only 
one — ^was published in Blackwood, Jan. 1837. But I suppose we 
spoke our plan near a dog-rose, for it never went any further.” ^ 

After occupying several Manchester houses, the Gaskells set- 
tled in 1850 at Plymouth Grove on the outskirts of the city in an 
old-fashioned mansion of solid proportions, with a portico on the 
front and a walled garden under the drawing-room windows. 
There were fields on one side of the house and in one of these 
Mrs. Gaskell “set up her cow,” kept pigs and poultry, and raised 
vegetables, with that delight in the homely life of the soil which 
the country-bred dweller in cities rarely outgrows. In this home 

1 Mary Barton, Knutsford Edition, Introduction, p. xxi. 

^ Stray Notes from Mrs. Gaskell, a paper by Miss Margaret Howitt in Good 
Words for 1895, pp. 605-612. 


10 


INTRODUCTION 


Mrs. Gaskell lived for the rest of her life and here she wrote most 
of her books. It is as the gracious and efficient genius of the home, 
rather than as a writer, that her friends chiefly remember her. 
Her skill in household management, especially in the training of 
servants, and her fine cordiahty created a happy setting for the 
companionship with her husband and children, which took pre- 
cedence of all outside interests, and for the varied friendships 
that grew with the growth of her fame. 

From the first, however, Mrs. GaskelFs activities outside her 
own walls were very vital. As a minister's wife she came into 
contact with poverty and distress at a time when poverty and dis- 
tress were widespread in Manchester. The substitution of ma- 
chinery for the old hand wheels and looms had revolutionized the 
spinning and weaving of cotton. The weavers, instead of work- 
ing in their own homes scattered through the countryside, were 
now gathered in great factories about which crowded cities had 
sprung up. In the first fifty years of the nineteenth century 
Manchester increased from a city of fifty thousand inhabitants 
to one of three hundred thousand. Hours were long, wages low, 
and dwellings congested and unsanitary. Immense profits were 
made by the new methods of production, but this wealth accrued 
only to the employers. Thus a wide distinction grew up between 
employers and workmen, and as they separated further in wealth 
and interests, distrust and hatred grew apace; strikes and misery 
followed. 

All this Mrs. Gaskell knew at first hand, for she went much 
into the homes of the poor, where her understanding and her 
frank sympathy gave her the status of a friend rather than of a 
charity visitor. Her interest in a Sunday School for working 
girls led her to form a sewing class of some of its members, and 
she entertained and taught these girls at her own home every 
Saturday evening, with a tact born of genuine friendliness. 

When the Civil War in the United States produced a cotton 
shortage which closed the mills in Lancashire, great numbers of 
the mill population were reduced to the verge of starvation. 
Many of the employers then joined the philanthropists in organ- 


ELIZABETH STEVENSON GASKELL 


11 


izing relief. The Gaskells gave much time and thought to the 
relief problem, and a scheme of Mrs. GaskelFs was eventually 
worked out in Manchester as the most satisfactory solution — the 
organization of sewing rooms where women were provided with 
machines and materials and put to work on articles for which the 
committee could secure a sale. 

In starting and superintending these rooms, Mrs. Gaskell often 
worked six or seven hours a day in addition to her personal visit- 
ing among the sufferers. She was also active in movements to 
supply pure milk cheaply to the poor and to provide free meals 
for the worst-conditioned. Her desire to effect permanent better- 
ment inevitably led her into a searching study of the pohtical and 
industrial forces at work in creating Manchester conditions until 
she acquired a rare understanding of the situation. She became 
a social reformer in the larger sense. 

Out of this zeal for industrial reform grew Mrs. Gaskell’s first 
serious hterary work. As early as 1838 she had begun to write, 
for she had then pubhshed the short paper on Clopton Hall al- 
ready mentioned. Lizzie Leigh j The Sexton’s Hero, and two other 
short stories were probably written soon afterward. In the 
summer of 1844, as was her custom each year, Mrs. Gaskell took 
her children away from smoky Manchester for a long hohday in 
the country. The eldest of her three daughters soon fell ill with 
scarlet fever and, despite Mrs. Gaskell’s care, the baby brother 
“ Willie contracted the disease and died. As the story goes, it 
was to divert her mind from her grief at the child’s death that, 
at her husband’s suggestion, she began her first novel. 

This first book, Mary Barton, was published in 1848 and 
brought Mrs. Gaskell immediate recognition. It is a story of 
a strike in the mills, showing the temptations and the nobihty 
of working men and women as she knew them, and making an 
ardent plea for justice to the workers in the bitter struggle be- 
tween masters and employees. The book created a sensation, for 
the subject was one of vital contemporary import and the author’s 
power was indisputable. It was the starting point of lasting 
friendship between Mrs. Gaskell and many of the famous writers 


12 


INTRODUCTION' 


of the day. Dickens was enthusiastic, and invited her to a dinner, 
celebrating the issue of the first of the serial numbers of David 
Copperjield, at which Carlyle and Thackeray were among the 
guests. Soon afterward Dickens wrote her a letter, from which 
the following paragraph is taken, asking her to contribute to a 
new magazine which he was about to start, Household Words : — 

‘‘I do not know what your hterary vows of temperance or ab- 
stinence may be, but as I do honestly know there is no hving 
Enghsh writer whose aid I would desire to enhst in preference 
to the authoress of Mary Barton (a book that most profoundly 
affected and impressed me), I venture to ask you whether you can 
give me any hope that you will write a short tale, or any number 
of tales, for the projected pages. I should set a value on your 
help which your modesty can hardly imagine, and I am perfectly 
sure that the least result of your reflection or observation in 
respect of the life around you would attract attention and do 
good. If you could, or would, prefer to speak to me on the sub- 
ject, I shall be very glad to come to Manchester for a few hours 
and explain anything you might wish to know. My unaffected 
and great admiration of your books makes me very earnest in all 
relating to you.^^ 

Mrs. GaskeU sent the story of Lizzie Leigh for the first issue 
of the magazine and beginning with the Christmas number of 
1851 she contributed the series of Cranford sketches which ran 
until May, 1853. 

From this time on she contributed steadily to several journals 
a great variety of descriptive pieces, short stories, and novels. 
Morton Hall and My French Master are tales with the dehcate 
charm of pastels. The Heart of John Middleton presents a vigor- 
ous character study. The Old Nurse^s Story and The Well of Pen 
Morfa are stories of the supernatural, which had always a strong 
fascination for Mrs. Gaskell. Of all the short stories. Cousin 
Phillis is the most successful. The novel Ruth goes back to the 
intense manner of Mary Barton. It is the straightforward, sym- 
pathetic story of a pretty young sewing woman, her yielding 


ELIZABETH STEVENSON GASKELL 


13 


to temptation and her moral regeneration. It brought censure 
upon Mrs. Gaskell from some quarters, but the more progress- 
ive among her readers recognized and appreciated in it sound 
sense, high moral purpose, and courage. North and South shows 
decided increase in psychological insight and in security of hand- 
ling. It was a generous supplement to Mary Barton, expressing 
the author ^s fuller comprehension of the conditions underlying 
the contest between the laborers and capitalists, and recognizing 
the spirit at work in the more liberal of the masters. 

Mrs. GaskelFs next work was closely connected with a signifi- 
cant friendship. At a house party in the Lakes she met Charlotte 
Bronte, and the two women, essentially different in temperament 
and in surroundings, became close friends. Mrs. Gaskell suc- 
ceeded in getting Miss Bronte to visit her three times at Ply- 
mouth Grove and she once spent a few days at Haworth, where 
she made such a favorable impression upon Mr. Bronte that after 
his daughter’s death he asked her to write a biography. Char- 
lotte Bronte had aroused much curiosity in England, for she 
had created a heroine new in fiction — plain of face, unafraid and 
self-sustaining, hungering for love yet accepting it only on terms 
of independence. The author of Jane Eyre was discussed every- 
where, pitied by some, condemned by others, comprehended by 
scarcely any. To bring the strange personality of Charlotte 
Bronte into the hght of truth, to secure for her friend the just 
appreciation that would come of understanding, was a task that 
Mrs. Gaskell eagerly undertook and upon which she spent much 
patient investigation and thoughtful analysis. 

After the biography was published in 1858, she traveled to 
Rome with her daughters, now four in number, but her hohday 
was soon broken by a storm of protests over the book. Certain 
individuals who had played a part in the Bronte family history 
took exception to her plain speaking and especially to her print- 
ing as actual fact Miss Bronte’s impressions of the school she 
had attended as a child. Criticism in the press was bitter and 
lawsuits even were threatened. Mrs. Gaskell, much disturbed 
to have given pain, made such public acknowledgment of error 


14 


INTRODUCTION 


as the facts of the case permitted and changed some passages in 
a new edition. 

To-day this biography is highly regarded. To the curious 
reader of Jane Eyre (and who that has read the book is not eager 
to know more of the strange individuahty it partially reveals?), 
this Life of Charlotte Bronte is of interest as the original account 
of the Bronte sisters and, in the main, the source of what is known 
to-day about their tragic hves. To the lover of Mrs. Gaskell, 
it is a dehght in its revelation of the keenness of her mind and 
of the generous warmth of her heart. 

For several years following the Bronte book, Mrs. Gaskell 
wrote little. The troubles over the biography had perhaps dulled 
her love of writing and then, too, these were the years of the 
Lancashire cotton famine and her most active charity work. 
Her next novel, Sylvia^ s Lovers^ was preceded by a visit to his- 
toric Whitby, which became the setting of the tale, and by a 
summer with her daughters in Rome and Florence. The desire 
to reform, which had been the motive power of Mary Barton and 
North and South, gave way to the pure creative impulse in this 
intense portrayal of love and unfaithfulness. 

Researches for a life of Madame de Sevign4 next took Mrs. Gas- 
kell to Paris and Brittany, but the work was never finished. Wives 
and Daughters was begun in the Cornhill Magazine in 1864 and 
ran until it was brought to a close by the author’s death. Al- 
though the concluding chapters were never written, the story is 
essentially complete. In its reahstic portrayal of English country 
life and character, drawing again upon Knutsford for material, 
and in its perfect mingling of humor and pathos, it forms a fitting 
conclusion to the long tale of Mrs. Gaskell’s writings. 

For some time Mrs. Gaskell and her family had known that 
she was subject to a disease of the heart, but she worked steadily 
on. During a visit to her old friend Madame Mohl in Paris in 
1865 she began to lose vitality and she returned to England in 
April too ill to see her friends. Soon, however, she was again 
actively busy, and anxiety for her health gradually died away. 
She had long yearned for a country home and in June she pur- 


CRANFORD 


15 


chased ‘^The Lawn/^ at Holybourne in Hampshire, as a surprise 
gift for her husband. There on a November Sunday evening 
while she was talking gaily with her daughters about the tea 
table, she was seized with heart failure, which brought im- 
mediate death. She was buried in the quiet graveyard of the 
httle Knutsford chapel and there, too, her husband was eighteen 
years afterward laid to rest. 

Mrs. Gaskelhs achievements as a homemaker, social worker, 
and writer are notable, but it is the personality shining through 
these works that remains with us at the end. With the passing 
of years her girlish beauty deepened. To vivacity of manner a 
simple graciousness was added — fitting signs of the nature that 
was within: sensitively alive to impressions, yet strong in control 
of its emotions; seeing all things with a keenness of perception and 
a sense of proportion out of which w^re born the sense of humor 
and the loving faith that gave her through life a remarkable effi- 
ciency, cheerfulness, and love. 


CRANFORD 

^Hs it true, I wonder?’^ That is the musing question that 
rises as we shut the cover upon the last page of Cranford, and 
there is, happily, material for a more than usually definite answer. 
Cranford was, and is, a real village — the Knutsford in which 
Elizabeth Stevenson lived as a little girl — and there to-day the 
inhabitants will proudly point out to you the Royal George where 
inquisitive Miss Pole met her adventure with Signor Brunoni; 
and Mrs. Jamieson's large house on the ^^road which had known 
what it was to be a street"; and the house in which Miss Matty 
sold tea; and many another spot familiar already to the reader 
of Cranford, Anne Thackeray Ritchie, daughter of the great 
novelist and friend of Mrs. Gaskell, once made a pilgrimage to 
Knutsford and this is what she says: — 

Knutsford itself is a httle town of many oak beams and solid 
brick walls; there are so many slanting gables left, and lattices 


16 


INTRODUCTION 


and corners, that the High Street has something the look of a 
mediaeval street. ‘ ’Tis an old ancient place, ^ said the shop- i 
woman, standing by her slanting counter, where Shakespeare 
himself might have purchased hardware. From the main street j 
several narrow courts and passages lead to the other side of the 
little town, the aristocratic quarter where are the old houses with 
their walled gardens. One of these passages runs right through 
the Royal George Hotel, itseK leading from shadow into the sun- 
shine, where a goat disports itseK, and one or two ladies seem ; 
always passing with quiet yet rapid steps, — the inhabitants of I 
Knutsford do not saunter. My friend the shopwoman told us I 
she had a beautiful garden at the back of her ^old ancient place’; 
all the houses in Knutsford have gardens, with parterres beauti- 
fully kept, and flowers in abundance. It was autumn, but every- 
thing was swept and tidy. Straggling branches, plants overgrown 
and run to seed do not seem to be known in Knutsford amidst its ; 
healthy open spaces. There is something so spirited and fresh ! 
and methodical in the place that I can understand how even the 
flower beds have a certain seK-respect, and grow trim and 
straight, instead of straggling about in lazy abandon, as mine do 
at home. 

^‘As we entered the Royal George Hotel out of the dark street, 
we came upon a dehghtful broadside of shining oak staircase and 
panelled wainscot; old oak settles and cupboards stood upon the 
landings. On the walls hung pictures, one was of Lord Beacons- 
field, one was a fine print of George IV, and others again of that 
denuded classic school of art which seems to have taken a last 
refuge in old Enghsh Inns. There were Chippendale cabinets, 
old bits of china, and above all there were the beautKul bannis- 
ters to admire. But these handsome staircases, the china, the 
wood carvings are all about the place, to which the great traffic | 
of the coaches from Liverpool and Manchester brought real pros- I 
perity for many years, so that the modest httle houses. are full of i 
worthy things, of pretty doorways, arched corners, carved land- 
ings, and mahogany doors, to make the fortune of a dealer in 
bric-^-brac, only that these are not bric-a-brac, and this is their 


CRANFORD 


17 


charm. The staircases and chimney pieces are their own original 
selves, the cupboards were made to dwell in their own particular 
niches, and it is the passing generations who turn and unturn the 
keys as they go by. Our kind Interpreter at Knutsford patiently 
led us from one place to another; sometimes we seemed to be in 
Cranford, greeting our visionary friends; sometimes we were back 
in Knutsford again, looking at the homes of the people we had 
knowm in the fact rather than in the fancy. And just as one 
sometimes sees traces of another place and time still showing in 
the streets of some new and busy town, so every here and there 
seemed isolated signs and tokens of the visionary familiar city as 
it has been raised by the genius of its founder. . . . 

^‘Knutsford likes to associate itself with Cranford in a desul- 
tory visionary sort of way. One house claims Miss Matty^s tea- 
shop. The owner was standing in the doorway, and he kindly 
brought us into the httle wainscoted parlor, with the window on 
the street through which Aga Jenkyns may have dispensed Miss 
Matty’s stock of sugar plums; here too was a pretty carved stair- 
case and arches belonging to the early Georges; another most 
charming old house, Church House, with the lovely garden where 
the children were gathering the apples and the gay flower beds 
were skirting the turf walk, might almost have been the home of 
Molly Gibson, and its present mistress said she liked to imagine 
her peeping out from the side window at the old coaches as they 
clattered through the town. As I sate there drinking my tea I 
thought I could almost hear Mrs. Gibson conversing. ‘Spring! 
Primavera, as the Itahans call it,’ the lady was saying.” 

Not only was Cranford a real village in its outward form; its 
inward spirit was even more true to Knutsford than were its 
streets and houses. Its society of maiden ladies maintaining their 
station in life and observing the etiquette of visits with the cere- 
monious rigor of a court, its tea-parties where the china and Hnen 
were of the finest and “the eatables of the slightest description,” 
its flutterings over the advent of a distinguished visitor, its little 
neighborly kindnesses, the stanch loyalty of its residents to each 


18 


INTRODUCTION 


other and to their traditions — all this intimate life of the country 
town Mrs. Gaskell knew and loved. Of the truth of many of the 
incidents of the book — delightfully absurd as they may seem to 
more sophisticated folk — we have her own testimony. In an- 
swer to a letter of praise from Ruskin (quoted on page 23) she 
wrote: — 

And then again about Cranford! I am so much pleased you like 
it. It is the only one of my own books that I can read again, but 
sometimes, when I am aihng, or ill, I take Cranford, and, I was 
going to say, enjoy it (but that would not be pretty), laugh over 
it afresh. And it is true, too, for I have seen the cow that wore 
the grey flannel jacket — and I know the cat that swallowed the 
lace that belonged to the lady that sent for the doctor that 
gave ... I am so glad yoiu* mother likes it too. I will tell her 
a bit of Cranford that I did not dare to put in, because I thought 
people would say it was ridiculous, and yet which really hap- 
pened in Knutsford. Two good old ladies, friends of mine in my 
girlhood, had a niece who made a grand marriage, as grand mar- 
riages went in those days. . . . The bride and bridegroom came 
to stay with the two Aunts, who had bought a new dining-room 
carpet, as a sort of wedding welcome to the young people, but I 
am afraid it was rather lost upon them; for the first time they 
found it out was after dinner, the day after they came. All 
dinner-time they had noticed that the neat maid-servant had 
performed a sort of pas de basque, hopping and striding, with 
more grace than security to the dishes she held. When she had 
left the room, one lady said to the other: ‘Sister, I think shedl 
do!’ — ‘Yes’, said the other; ‘She’s managed very nicely.’ And 
then they began to explain that she was a fresh servant, and that 
they had just laid down a new carpet with white spots or spaces 
over it, and they had been teaching this girl to vault or jump 
gracefully over these white places, lest her feet might dirty them! 
The beginning of Cranford was one paper in Household Words; 
and I never meant to write more, so killed Captain Brown very 
much against my will. 


CRANFORD 


19 


'^See what you have drawn down upon yourself, by gratifying 
me so much! I’ll stop now however . . 

As the first part of this letter gives evidence of the literal truth 
of many of the Cranford happenings, so its end tells something 
of the history of the book itself. It suggests, further, in what way 
we are to regard its characters and story, — ^not as the actual life 
history of a group of Knutsford residents but rather as a narrative 
created by the author out of the general stuff of Knutsford per- 
sonahty and habits. The highest truth of the book consists in 
its rendering of the basic nobihty of human nature under all the 
eccentricities of a particular time and place. 

The first two chapters were written and printed as a single 
magazine article, the author having no thought of carrying the 
story further. Its success led to the writing of a series of sketches 
of Knutsford, and gradually a continuous thread of narrative 
began to show itself. 

The following outline gives the titles of the original sketches 
and the dates of publication in Household Words. The sub- 
headings indicate the chapter headings adopted when the series 
was published in book form. 

Our Society at Cranford 

Chap. I. Our Society. 

II. The Captain. 

A Love Affair at Cranford 

. III. A Love Affair of Long Ago, 

IV. A Visit to an Old Bachelor 

Memory at Cranford March 13, 1852 

Chap. V. Old Letters. 

VI. Poor Peter. 

Visiting at Cranford April 3, 1852 

Chap. VII. Visiting. 

“ VIII. ^‘Your Ladyship.” 

The Great Panic in Cranford In two parts 

Chap. IX. Signor Brunoni. January 8 & 15, 1853 

“ X. The Panic. 

XI. Samuel Brown. 



December 13, 1851 
. . . January 3, 1852 


20 


INTRODUCTION 


Stopped Payment in Cranford 

Chap. XII. Engaged to be Married. 
“ XIII. Stopped Payment. 

Friends in Need in Cranford 

Chap. XIV. Friends in Need. 

A Happy Return to Cranford 

Chap. XV. A Happy Return. 

XVI. Peace to Cranford. 


.April 2, 1853 

.May 7, 1853 
May 21, 1853 


The deft touches by which these separate sketches were made 
to run into a single whole afford an illuminating study of Mrs. 
Gaskell’s skill as a worker in words. With the third chapter 
Miss Matty begins to occupy the central place in the narrative, 
and the story of poor Peter, which at first seems merely an episode 
of reminiscence, eventually works out into a slight plot in which 
the failure of the bank supplies the complicating element. 

Yet we certainly do not read Cranford for the story, and the 
question naturally arises wherein does lie its appeal to us. This 
appeal lies in the response Cranford makes to a demand of our 
natures deeper even than our love of a story, of action and ex- 
citement; it lies in its satisfaction of our need for human con- 
tacts, for participation in the hves of other people. Cranford 
brings us this social intercourse in a very real sense, for as we 
read, and in many a quiet moment afterward, we too visit the 
old Cheshire village. We put on our primmest manner as we 
step over the threshold into the presence of Miss Jenkyns; we 
catch a glimpse of Miss Pole darting about the shops gathering 
intelligence in the most genteel fashion; we drink milk in our tea 
at Mrs. Jamieson’s and are called upon to admire Carlo’s intelli- 
gence as he wags his tail for cream; we sit on the hearth close to 
the glimmer of the single candle and read those yellowed love 
letters, and as the thin sheets blaze up in the coals before us, we 
too sigh over the memories of long ago. And all this imaginative 
experience is possible for us because Mrs. Gaskell has known and 
loved these people so well that she can speak their thoughts in 
their very words and tones. Hers is the true psychological method 


CRANFORD 


21 


of character portrayal, for in a few words she reveals the inner 
nature of a person. Take these of Miss Matty’s — how they 
illuminate the whole relationship of Deborah and her mischievous 
brother; what light, too. Miss Matty’s very unconsciousness of 
how much she is telling throws upon her own simphcity : — 

^‘What possessed our poor Peter I don’t know; he had the 
sweetest temper, and yet he always seemed to like to plague 
Deborah. She never laughed at his jokes, and thought him un- 
genteel, and not careful enough about improving his mind, and 
that vexed him.” 

More frequently it is by their own speech and acts that the 
people of the book lay themselves bare to us. Brief as is that 
scene in the shop when Miss Matty discovers the failure of the 
bank, absolutely devoid of analysis, indeed devoid of a single 
phrase beyond those necessary to the telling of the incident, it is 
yet instinct with characterization. The shopman, the farmer, 
and Mary Smith all stand out in distinct individuality. Of Miss 
Matty, the dialogue that could have lasted scarcely more than 
three minutes, affords an almost complete revelation. 

Cranford excites both our sympathy and our sense of humor. 
The deaths of Captain Brown and his daughter, and the sorrow- 
ing of the broken rector and his wife over the runaway Peter are 
simply and unaffectedly sad. Of mirth-provoking scenes there 
is no end. Martha’s retort to the persuasive ‘‘Listen to reason” 
is masterly: — 

“I’ll not listen to reason,” she interrupted. “Reason always 
means what some one else has got to say.” 

The whole account of Miss Barker’s tea party is of the essence 
of humor, humor keen as a lancet yet always genial. Two passages 
are irresistible: — 

“The tea tray was abundantly loaded. I was pleased to see it, 
I was so hungry; but I was afraid the ladies present might think 


22 


INTRODUCTION 


it vulgarly heaped up. I knew they would have done at their 
own houses; but somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw 
Mrs. Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, as she 
did everything; and I was rather surprised, for I knew she had 
told us, on the occasion of her last party, that she never had it in 
her house, it reminded her so much of scented soap. She always 
gave us Savoy biscuits. However, Mrs. Jamieson was kindly in- 
dulgent to Miss Barker^s want of knowledge of the customs of 
high life; and to spare her feehngs, ate three large pieces of seed- 
cake, with a placid, ruminating expression of countenance, not 
unhke a cow^s.’^ 

After supper at this same party Miss Barker offered the ladies 
cherry brandy, a beverage hitherto unknown to their gentility, 
and following the lead of Mrs. Jamieson they let themselves be 
persuaded. 

“Ht^s very strong,’ said Miss Pole, as she put down her empty 
glass; ‘I do beheve there’s spirit in it.’ 

“^Only a httle drop — just necessary to make it keep!’ said 
Miss Barker. ‘You know we put brandy-paper over preserves 
to make them keep. I often feel tipsy myself from eating dam- 
son tart.’” 

Pure pathos and pure humor are not, however, the ultimate 
source of the power that is in Cranford. Much of it stirs a deeper 
feeling, that strange emotion that wells up within us when we 
perceive in one moment that life is both noble and ridiculous, 
when the absurd emerges so suddenly out of the serious that our 
laughter and our tears check each other. Such a moment it is 
when, with candles out and doors locked and Martha sent out 
on a distant errand. Miss Matty tells the comic-sober history of 
poor Peter; such another when the four ladies of Cranford in 
formal meeting are addressed by Miss Pole, from notes on a card 
in her hand, in regard to subscribing of their scanty incomes to 
the aid of a friend in need. 

The permanent worth of this light and graceful narrative lies 


CRITICAL OPINIONS 


23 


in its power to awaken at once our reverence and our mirth. Of 
the impression it made when first published the following letter 
from Ruskin gives evidence: — 

have just been reading Cranford out to my mother. She has 
read it about five times, but, the first time I tried, I flew into a 
passion at Captain Brown’s being killed and would not go any 
further — ^but this time my mother coaxed me past it — and then 
I enjoyed it mightily. I do not know when I have read a more 
finished little piece of study of human nature (a very great and 
good thing when it is not spoiled). Nor was I ever more sorry to 
come to a book’s end. I can’t think why you left off! You might 
have killed Miss Matty, as you’re fond of killing nice people, and 
then gone on with Jessie’s children, or made yourself an old 
lady — ^in time — ^it would have been lovely. I can’t write more 
to-day.” 

In America Cranford has always been more enjoyed than any 
other of Mrs. Gaskell’s books, and though the hterary critics 
at first rated it as a dehghtful by-product of her genius, a lesser 
work than her novels of social reform, the lapse of fifty years has 
developed the general conviction that it is her masterpiece. 


CRITICAL OPINIONS 

‘‘I find it pleasurable reading: graphic, pithy, penetrating, 
shrewd, yet kind and indulgent.” — Charlotte Bronte, in a 
letter to Mrs. Gaskell. 

^‘Mrs. Gaskell has done what neither I nor other female writers 
in France can accomplish — she has written novels which excite 
the deepest interest in men of the world, and yet which every 
girl will be the better for reading.” — George Sand. 

“The finest piece of humoristic description that has been added 
to British literature since Charles Lamb.” — Lord Houghton. 

“Still, this prose idyll, as I have had no hesitation in calling 
it, stands as such, halfway between two species. The one is the 


24 


INTRODUCTION 


novel or short tale which has been provided with a specific back- 
ground, in order to produce the twofold effect of harmony and 
contrast; the other is the descriptive sketch or essay, which plays 
round its subject, like the sunshine and shade that give variety 
to the scene and expression to the figures occupying it. The lit- 
erary derivation of Cranford is thus neither from The Vicar of 
Wakefield^ a tale whose thrilling interest is only enhanced, not 
produced, by its surroundings; nor from the Essays of Elia, to 
which Lord Houghton compared it, but in which the irresistible 
charm of each successive gem is but a radiation from the individ- 
uality of the essayist. 

Rarely have fact and fiction — Wahrheit und Dichtung — ^been 
more deftly interwoven than in Cranford, — the joint product of 
quick observation, tender remembrance, and fresh imaginative 
power.^^ — ^A. W. Ward in the preface to the Knutsford Edition 
of Cranford, 

Cranford is, in the opinion of the present writer, Mrs. GaskelFs 
most perfect and distinguished work. Its isolation is, indeed, 
something of a mystery. In all her books Mrs. Gaskell wrote oc- 
casionally very well, but technically Cranford is better — and 
consistently better than any. It has more delicacy, more atmos- 
phere, in short, more style. This was particularly noticeable in 
Household Words, where there was no style, only manner. We 
may perhaps look for one cause in the circumstance that Cran- 
ford is the record of impressions gathered in childhood; and such 
records have always a vitality not to be equalled, except in rare 
instances, by those impressions gathered by older and less sensi- 
tive vision.’^ — E. V. Lucas in an introduction to Cranford. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY FOR FURTHER STUDY 


William E. Axon and Ernest Axon. Gaskell Bibliography. 
Encyclopcedia Brittannica. Masson: Mrs. Gaskell. 

Dictionary of National Biography. A. W. Ward : Mrs. Gaskell. 
Knutsford Edition of Works of Mrs. Gaskell. Biographical In- 
troduction. A. W. Ward. 

Revised and enlarged from the earlier account in the Dic- 
tionary of National Biography. 

Mrs. Ellis H. Chadwick: Mrs. Gaskell: Haunts, Homes and Stories. 
N. Y. 1911. Stokes. 

A mass of valuable material, but so loosely organized that 
a list of readings selected by the teacher is necessary. 
Numerous fine illustrations. 

Clara H. Whitmore: Woman^s Work in English Fiction. N. Y. 

1910. E.C. Gaskell. pp. 274r-292. 

LittelVs Living Age, vol. 206, pp. 575-6. Sept. 1895. Beatrix 
Tollemache: Cranford Souvenirs. 

Personal recollections of characters and customs, pp. 623- 
33. Sept. 1895. Mat. Hompes: Mrs. Gaskell. 

Putnam^s Monthly, vol. 1, pp. 345-52. Dec. 1906. Mrs. A. T. 
Ritchie: The Author of ^ Cranford.^ 

Cl I inTIQ 

Fortnightly Review, vol. 30, pp. 353-369. Sept. 1878. William 
Minto: The Novels of Mrs. Gaskell. 

Genealogy of the novels and their social significance. 
Bookman, vol. 3, pp. 313-24. 1896. Clement K. Shorter: Mrs. 
Gaskell and Charlotte Bronte. 

Of interest chiefly in connection with The Life of Charlotte 
Bronte. 

Ladies'^ Home Journal, vol. 18, Oct. 1901. The Real Cranford. 
Good pictures. No text. 

Graphic, 82, Supplement. Oct. 1, 1910, opp. p. 546, pp. 1-4. The 
Centenary of Mrs. GaskeWs Birth. 

Valuable pictures. 


25 







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CRANFORD 


CHAPTER I 

OUR SOCIETY 

In the first place, Cranford is in possession of the 
Amazons; ^ all the holders of houses, above a certain rent, 
are women. If a married couple come to settle in the 
town, somehow the gentleman disappears; he is either 
fairly frightened to death by being the only man in the 
Cranford evening parties, or he is accounted for by 
being with his regiment, his ship, or closely engaged in 
business all the week in the great neighboring commer- 
cial town of Drumble,^ distant only twenty miles on a 
railroad. In short, whatever does become of the gentle- 
men, they are not at Cranford. What could they do 
if they were there? The surgeon has his round of thirty 
miles, and sleeps at Cranford; but every man cannot 
be a surgeon. For keeping the trim gardens full of 
choice flowers without a weed to speck them; for fright- 
ening away little boys who look wistfully at the said 
flowers through the railings; for rushing out at the 
geese that occasionally venture into the gardens if the 
gates are left open; for deciding all questions of litera- 
ture and politics without troubling themselves with 
27 


28 


CRANFORD 


unnecessary reasons or arguments; for obtaining clear 
and correct knowledge of everybody's affairs in the 
parish; for keeping their neat maid-servants in ad- 
mirable order; for kindness (somewhat dictatorial) 
to the poor, and real tender good offices to each other 
whenever they are in distress, the ladies of Cranford 
are quite sufficient. man,’^ as one of them ob- 
served to me once, ^^is so in the way in the house! 
Although the ladies of Cranford know all each other’s 
proceedings, they are exceedingly indifferent to each 
other’s opinions. Indeed, as each has her own indi- 
viduality, not to say eccentricity, pretty strongly de- 
veloped, nothing is so easy as verbal retaliation; but 
somehow good-will reigns among them to a considerable 
degree. 

The Cranford ladies have only an occasional little 
quarrel, spirted out in a few peppery words and angry 
jerks of the head; just enough to prevent the even 
tenor of their lives from becoming too flat. Their dress 
is very independent of fashion; as they observe: What 
does it signify how we dress here in Cranford, where 
everybody knows us? ” And if they go from home, their 
reason is equally cogent: ^^What does it signify how 
we dress here, where nobody knows us? ” The materials 
of their clothes are, in general, good and plain, and 
most of them are nearly as scrupulous as Miss Tyler, ^ 
of cleanly memory; but I will answer for it, the last 
gigot,^ the last tight and scanty petticoat in wear in 
England, was seen in Cranford — ^and seen without a 
smile. 


OUR SOCIETY 


29 


I can testify to a magnificent family red silk um- 
brella/ under which a gentle little spinster, left alone 
of many brothers and sisters, used to patter to church 
on rainy days. Have you any red silk umbrellas in 
London? We had a tradition of the first that had ever 
been seen in Cranford; and the little boys mobbed it, 
and called it '^a stick in petticoats.’^ It might have 
been the very red silk one I have described, held by a 
strong father over a troop of little ones; the poor little 
lady — the survivor of all — could scarcely carry it. 

Then there were rules and regulations for visiting 
and calls; and they were announced to any young peo- 
ple who might be staying in the town, with all the 
solemnity with which the old Manx laws ^ were read 
once a year on the Tinwald Mount. 

^'Our friends have sent to inquire how you are after 
your journey to-night, my dear (fifteen miles in a gentle- 
man’s carriage) ; they will give you some rest to-morrow, 
but the next day, I have no doubt, they will call; so be 
at liberty after twelve; — from twelve to three are our 
calling hours.” 

Then after they had called: 

^Ht is the third day; I dare say your mamma has told 
you, my dear, never to let more than three days elapse 
between receiving a call and returning it; and also, 
that you are never to ^stay longer than a quarter of an 
hour.” 

^^But am I to look at my watch? How am I to find 
out when a quarter of an hour has passed?” 

'‘You must keep thinking about the time, my 


30 


CRANFORD 


dear, and not allow yourself to forget it in conversa- 
tion/’ 

As everybody had this rule in their minds whether 
they received or paid a call, of course no absorbing 
subject was ever spoken about. We kept ourselves to 
short sentences of small talk, and were punctual to 
our time. 

I imagine that a few of the gentlefolks of Cranford 
were poor, and had some difficulty in making both ends 
meet; but they were like the Spartans, and concealed 
their smart under a smiling face. We none of us spoke 
of money, because that subject savored of commerce 
and trade, and though some might be poor, we were all 
aristocratic. The Cranfordians had that kindly esprit 
de corps ^ which made them overlook all deficiencies 
in success when some among them tried to conceal their 
poverty. When Mrs. Forrester, for instance, gave a 
party in her baby-house of a dwelling, and the little 
maiden disturbed the ladies on the sofa by a request 
that she might get the tea-tray out from underneath, 
every one took this novel proceeding as the most nat- 
ural thing in the world; and talked on about household 
forms and ceremonies, as if we all believed that our 
hostess had a regular servants’ hall, second table, with 
housekeeeper and steward; instead of the one little 
charity-school maiden, whose short ruddy arms could 
never have been strong enough to carry the tray up- 
stairs, if she had not been assisted in private by her 
mistress, who now sate in state, pretending not to know 
what cakes were sent up; though she knew, and we 


OUR SOCIETY 


31 


knew, and she knew that we knew, and we knew that 
she knew that we knew, she had been busy all the morn- 
ing making tea-bread and sponge-cakes. 

There were one or two consequences arising from this 
general but unacknowledged poverty, and this very 
much acknowledged gentility, which were not amiss, 
and which might be introduced into many circles of 
society to their great improvement. For instance, the 
inhabitants of Cranford kept early hours, and clattered 
home in their pattens,^ under the guidance of a lantern- 
bearer, about nine o’clock at night; and the whole 
town was abed and asleep by half-past ten. Moreover, 
it was considered vulgar” (a tremendous word in 
Cranford) to give anything expensive in the way of 
eatable or drinkable at the evening entertainments. 
Wafer bread-and-butter and sponge biscuits were all 
that the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson gave; and she was 
sister-in-law to the late Earl of Glenmire, although she 
did practise such elegant economy.” 

Elegant economy!” How naturally one falls back 
into the phraseology of Cranford! There, economy 
was always elegant,” and money-spending always 
'^vulgar and ostentatious;” a sort of sour-grapeism 
which made us very peaceful and satisfied. I never 
shall forget the dismay felt when a certain Captain 
Brown came to live at Cranford, and openly spoke 
about his being poor — not in a whisper to an intimate 
friend, the doors and windows being previously closed; 
but in the public street! — in a loud military voice! — 
alleging his poverty as a reason for not taking a par- 


32 


CRANFORD 


ticular house. The ladies of Cranford were already 
rather moaning over the invasion of their territories 
by a man and a gentleman. He was a half-pay cap- 
tain,^ and had obtained some situation on a neighbor- 
ing railroad, 'which had been vehemently petitioned 
against by the little town; and if, in addition to his mas- 
culine gender, and his connection with the obnoxious 
railroad, he was so brazen as to. talk of being poor — 
why! then, indeed, he must be sent to Coventry.^ 
Death was as true and as common as poverty; yet 
people never spoke about that, loud out in the streets. 
It was a word not to be mentioned to ears polite. We 
had tacitly agreed to ignore that any with whom we 
associated on terms of visiting equality could ever be 
prevented by poverty from doing anything that they 
wished. If we walked to or from a party, it was be- 
cause the night was so fine, or the air so refreshing; 
not because sedan-chairs^ were expensive. If we wore 
prints, instead of summer silks, it was because we pre- 
ferred a washing material; and so on, till we blinded 
ourselves to the vulgar fact that we were, all of us, 
people of very moderate means. Of course, then, we 
did not know what to make of a man who could speak 
of poverty as if it was not a disgrace. Yet somehow 
Captain Brown made himself respected in Cranford, 
and was called upon, in spite of all resolutions to the 
contrary. I was surprised to hear his opinions quoted 
as authority, at a visit which I paid to Cranford, about 
a year after he had settled in the town. My own friends 
had been among the bitterest opponents of any pro- 


OUR SOCIETY 


33 


posal to visit the captain and his daughters, only twelve 
months before; and now he was even admitted in the 
tabooed hours before twelve. True, it was to discover 
the cause of a smoking chimney, before the fire was 
lighted; but still. Captain Brown walked up-stairs, 
nothing daunted, spoke in a voice too large for the room, 
and joked quite in the way of a tame man, about the 
house. He had been blind to all the small slights and 
omissions of trivial ceremonies with which he had been 
received. He had been friendly, though the Cranford 
ladies had been cool; he had answered small sarcastic 
compliments in good faith, and with his manly frank- 
ness had overpowered all the shrinking which met him 
as a man who was not ashamed to be poor. And, at 
last, his excellent masculine common-sense, and his 
facility in devising expedients to overcome domestic 
dilemmas, had gained him an extraordinary place as 
authority among the Cranford ladies. He himself 
went on in his course, as unaware of his popularity as 
he had been of the reverse; and I am sure he was startled 
one day, when he found his advice so highly esteemed, 
as to make some counsel which he had given in jest 
to be taken in sober, serious earnest. 

It was on this subject: An old lady had an Alderney 
cow, which she looked upon as a daughter. You could 
not pay the short quarter-of-an-hour call without being 
told of the wonderful milk or wonderful intelligence 
of this animal. The whole town knew and kindly re- 
garded Miss Betsy Barker’s Alderney; therefore great 
was the sympathy and regret when, in an imguarded 


34 


CRANFORD 


moment, the poor cow tumbled into a lime-pit. She 
moaned so loudly that she was soon heard, and rescued; 
but meanwhile the poor beast had lost most of her hair, 
and came out looking naked, cold, and miserable, in 
a bare skin. Everybody pitied the animal, though a 
few could not restrain their smiles at her droll appear- 
ance. Miss Betsy Barker absolutely cried with sorrow 
and dismay; and it was said she thought of trying a 
bath of oil. This remedy, perhaps, was recommended 
b}’^ some one of the number whose advice she asked; 
but the proposal, if ever it was made, was knocked on 
the head by Captain Brownes decided ^^Get her a 
flannel waistcoat and flannel drawers, ma’am, if you 
wish to keep her alive. But my advice is, kill the poor 
creature at once.” 

Miss Betsy Barker dried her eyes, and thanked the 
Captain heartily; she set to work, and by and by all 
the town turned out to see the Alderney meekly going 
to her pasture, clad in dark gray flannel. I have watched 
her myself many a time. Do you ever see cows dressed 
in gray flannel in London? 

Captain Brown had taken a small house on the out- 
skirts of the town, where he lived with his two daugh- 
ters. He must have been upwards of sixty at the time of 
the first visit I paid to Cranford, after I had left it as a res- 
idence. But he had a wiry, well-trained, elastic figure; 
a stiff military throw-back of his head, and a springing 
step, which made him appear much younger than he 
was. His eldest daughter looked almost as old as him- 
self, and betrayed the fact that his real was more than 


OUR SOCIETY 


35 


his apparent age. Miss Brown must have been forty; 
she had a sickly, pained, careworn expression on her 
face, and looked as if the gayety of youth had long 
faded out of sight. Even when young she must have 
been plain and hard-featured. Miss Jessie Brown was 
ten years younger than her sister, and twenty shades 
prettier. Her face was round and dimpled. Miss 
Jenkyns once said in a passion against Captain Brown 
(the cause of which I will tell you presently), ^Hhat 
she thought it was time for Miss Jessie to leave off her 
dimples, and not always to be trying to look like a 
child. It was true there was something childlike in 
her face; and there will be, I think, till she dies, though 
she should live to be a hundred. Her eyes were large 
blue wondering eyes, looking straight at you ; her nose was 
unformed and snub, and her lips were red and dewy; 
she wore her hair, too, in little rows of curls, which 
heightened this appearance. I do not know whether 
she was pretty or not; but I liked her face, and so did 
everybody, and I do not think she could help her dim- 
ples. She had something of her father’s jauntiness of 
gait and manner; and any female observer might detect 
a slight difference in the attire of the two sisters — that 
of Miss Jessie being about two pounds per annum 
more expensive than Miss Brown’s. Two pounds was 
a large sum in Captain Brown’s annual disbursements. 

Such was the impression made upon me by the Brown 
family when I first saw them all together in Cranford 
church. The captain I had met before — on the occa- 
sion of the smoky chimney, which he had cured by 


36 


CRANFORD 


some simple alteration in the flue. In church, he held 
his double eyeglass to his eyes during the Morning 
Hymn, and then lifted up his head erect, and sang out 
loud and joyfully. He made the responses louder 
than the clerk — an old man with a piping feeble voice, 
who, I think, felt aggrieved at the Captain’s sonorous 
bass, and quavered higher and higher in consequence. 

On coming out of church, the brisk Captain paid the 
most gallant attention to his two daughters. He nodded 
and smiled to his acquaintances; but he shook hands 
with none until he had helped Miss BroAvn to unfurl 
her umbrella, had relieved her of her prayer-book, and 
had waited patiently till she, with trembling, nervous 
hands, had taken up her gown to walk through the 
wet roads. 

I wondered what the Cranford ladies did with Cap- 
tain Brown at their parties. We had often rejoiced, in 
former days, that there was no gentleman to be at- 
tended to, and to find conversation for, at the card- 
parties. We had congratulated ourselves upon the 
snugness of the evenings; and, in our love for gentility 
and distaste of mankind, we had almost persuaded 
ourselves that to be a man was to be vulgar”; so that 
when I found my friend and hostess. Miss Jenkyns, 
was going to have a party in my honor, and that Cap- 
tain and the Miss Browns were invited, I wondered 
much what would be the course of the evening. Card- 
tables, with green-baize tops, were set out by daylight, 
just as usual; it was the third week in November, so 
the evenings closed in about four. Candles and clean 


OUR SOCIETY 


37 


packs of cards were arranged on each table. The fire 
was made up, the neat maid-servant had received her 
last directions; and there we stood, dressed in our best, 
each with a candle-lighter in our hands, ready to dart 
at the candles as soon as the first knock came. Parties 
in Cranford were solemn festivities, making the ladies 
feel gravely elated, as they sat together in their best 
dresses. As soon as three had arrived, we sat down to 
^‘Preference,” I being the unlucky fourth. The next 
four comers were put down immediately to another 
table; and presently the tea-trays, which I had seen 
set out in the store-room as I passed in the morning, 
were placed each on the middle of a card-table. The 
china was delicate egg-shell; the old-fashioned silver 
glittered with polishing; but the eatables were of the 
slightest description. While the trays were yet on the 
tables. Captain and the Miss Browns came in; and I 
could see that somehow or other the Captain was a 
favorite with all the ladies present. Ruffled brows 
were smoothed, sharp voices lowered at his approach. 
Miss Brown looked ill, and depressed almost to gloom. 
Miss Jessie smiled as usual, and seemed nearly as popu- 
lar as her father. He immediately and quietly assumed 
the man’s place in the room; attended to every one’s 
wants, lessened the pretty maid-servant’s labor by 
waiting on empty cups, and bread-and-butterless ladies; 
and yet did it all in so easy and dignified a manner, and 
so much as if it were a matter of course for the strong to 
attend to the weak, that he was a true man throughout. 
He played for threepenny points with as grave an in- 


38 


' CRANFORD 


terest as if they had been pounds; and yet in all his 
attention to strangers he had an eye on his suffering 
daughter; for suffering I was sure she was, though to 
many eyes she might only appear to be irritable. Miss 
Jessie could not play cards; but she talked to the sitters- 
out, who, before her coming, had been rather inclined to 
be cross. She sang, too, to an old cracked piano, which 
I think had been a spinet in its youth. Miss Jessie sang 
Jock of HazeldeoM ^ a little out of tune; but we were 
none of us musical, though Miss Jenkyns beat time, 
out of time, by way of appearing to be so. 

It was very good of Miss Jenkyns to do this; for I 
had seen that, a little before, she had been a good deal 
annoyed by Miss Jessie Brown’s unguarded admission 
(apropos of Shetland wool) that she had an uncle, her 
mother’s brother, who was a shopkeeper in Edinburgh. 
Miss Jenkyns tried to drown this confession by a ter- 
rible cough — ^for the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson was 
sitting at the card-table nearest Miss Jessie, and what 
would she say or think, if she found out she was in the 
same room with a shopkeeper’s niece! But Miss Jessie 
Brown (who had no tact, as we all agreed the next 
morning) would repeat the information, and assure 
Miss Pole she could easily get her the identical Shetland 
wool required, ^Hhrough my uncle, who has the best 
assortment of Shetland goods of any one in Edinbro.” 
It was to take the taste of this out of our mouths, and 
the sound of this out of our ears, that Miss Jenkyns 
proposed music; so I say again, it was very good of her 
to beat time to the song. 


OUR SOCIETY 


39 


When the trays reappeared with biscuits and wine, 
punctually at a quarter to nine, there was conversation, 
comparing of cards, and talking over tricks; but by 
and by Captain Brown sported a bit of literature. 

^^Have you seen any numbers of The Pickwick Pa-- 
persf” ^ said he. (They were then publishing in parts.) 

Capital thing! 

Now Miss Jenkyns was daughter of a deceased rector 
of Cranford; and, on the strength of a number of man- 
uscript sermons, and a pretty good library of divinity, 
considered herself literary, and looked upon any con- 
versation about books as a challenge to her. So she 
answered and said: ^^Yes, she had seen them; indeed, 
she might say she had read them.” 

^^And what do you think of them?” exclaimed Cap- 
tain Brown. ArenT they famously good? ” 

So urged, Miss Jenkyns could not but speak. 

‘‘1 must say I don’t think they are by any means 
equal to Dr. Johnson. Still, perhaps, the author is 
young. Let him persevere, and who knows what he 
may become if he will take the great Doctor for his 
model.” This was evidently too much for Captain 
Brown to take placidly; and I saw the words on the tip 
of his tongue before Miss Jenkyns had finished her 
sentence. 

It is quite a different sort of thing, my dear madam,” 
he began. 

'*1 am quite aware of that,” returned she. ^^And I 
make allowances, Captain Brown.” 

'Just allow me to read you a scene out of this month’s 


40 


CRANFORD 


number/’ pleaded he. I had it only this morning, and 
I don’t think the company can have read it yet.” 

^^As you please,” said she, settling herself with an 
air of resignation. He read the account of the swarry^ ” 
which Sam Weller gave at Bath. Some of us laughed 
heartily. I did not dare, because I was staying in the 
house. Miss Jenkyns sat in patient gravity. When it 
was ended, she turned to me, and said with mild dignity: 

Fetch me Rasselas,^ my dear, out of the book-room.” 

When I brought it to her, she turned to Captain 
Brown: 

^'Now allow me to read you a scene, and then the 
present company can judge between your favorite, Mr. 
Boz,^ and Dr. Johnson.” 

She read one of the conversations between Rasselas 
and Imlac, in a high-pitched, majestic voice; and when 
she had ended, she said: ‘^1 imagine I am now justified 
in my preference of Dr. Johnson as a writer of fiction.” 
The Captain screwed his lips up, and drummed on the 
table, but he did not speak. She thought she would 
give a finishing blow or two. 

‘T consider it vulgar, and below the dignity of litera- 
ture, to publish in numbers.” 

'^How was the Rambler published, ma’am?” asked 
Captain Brown, in a low voice, which I think Miss Jen- 
kyns could not have heard. 

^^Dr. Johnson’s style is a model for young beginners. 
My father recommended it to me when I began to write 
letters. I have formed my own style upon it; I recom- 
mend it to your favorite.” 


OUR SOCIETY 


41 


I should be very sorry for him to exchange his style 
for any such pompous writing/^ said Captain Brown. 

Miss Jenkyns felt this as a personal affront, in a way 
which the Captain had not dreamed. Epistolary writ- 
ing, she and her friends considered as her forte. Many 
a copy of many a letter have I seen written and cor- 
rected on the slate, before she seized the half-hour just 
previous to post-time to assure’’ her friends of this or 
that; and Dr. Johnson was, as she said, her model in 
these compositions. She drew herself up with dignity, 
and only replied to Captain Brown’s last remark by 
saying, with marked emphasis on every syllable, 
prefer Dr. Johnson to Mr. Boz.” 

It is said — I won’t vouch for the fact — that Captain 
Brown was heard to say, sotto voce,^ “D — ^n Dr. John- 
son!” If he did, he was penitent afterwards, as he 
showed by going to stand near Miss Jenkyns’s armchair, 
and endeavoring to beguile her into conversation on 
some more pleasing subject. But she was inexorable. 
The next day she made the remark I have mentioned 
about Miss Jessie’s dimples. 


CHAPTER II 


THE CAPTAIN 

It was impossible to live a month at Cranford and not 
know the daily habits of each resident; and long before 
my visit was ended, I knew much concerning the whole 
Brown trio. There was nothing new to be discovered 
respecting their poverty; for they had spoken simply 
and openly about that from the very first. They made 
no mystery of the necessity for their being economical. 
All that remained to be discovered was the Captain’s 
infinite kindness of heart, and the various modes in 
which, unconsciously to himself, he manifested it. Some 
little anecdotes were talked about for some time after 
they occurred. As we did not read much, and as all the 
ladies were pretty well suited with servants, there was 
a dearth of subjects for conversation. We therefore 
discussed the circumstance of the Captain taking a 
poor old woman’s dinner out of her hands, one very 
slippery Sunday. He had met her returning from the 
bakehouse as he came from church, and noticed her 
precarious footing; and, with the grave dignity with 
which he did everything, he relieved her of her burden, 
and steered along the street by her side, carrying her 
baked mutton and potatoes safely home. This was 
thought very eccentric; and it was rather expected 
42 


THE CAPTAIN 


43 


that he would pay a round of calls, on the Monday 
morning, to explain and apologize to the Cranford sense 
of propriety; but he did no such thing; and then it was 
decided that he was ashamed, and was keeping out of 
sight. In a kindly pity for him, we began to say : After 
all, the Sunday morning’s occurrence showed great 
goodness of heart”; and it was resolved that he should 
be comforted on his next appearance among us; but, 
lo! he came down upon us, untouched by any sense of 
shame, speaking loud and bass as ever, his head thrown 
back, his wig as jaunty and well-curled as usual, and 
we were obliged to conclude he had forgotten all about 
Sunday. 

Miss Pole and Miss Jessie Brown had set up a kind of 
intimacy, on the strength of the Shetland wool and the 
new knitting stitches; so it happened that when I went 
to visit Miss Pole, I saw more of the Browns than I had 
done while staying with Miss Jenkyns, who had never 
got over what she called Captain Brown’s disparaging 
remarks upon Dr. Johnson, as a writer of light and 
agreeable fiction. I found that Miss Brown was seri- 
ously ill of some lingering, incurable complaint, the 
pain occasioned by which gave the uneasy expression 
to her face that I had taken for unmitigated crossness. 
Cross, too, she was at times, when the nervous irrita- 
bility occasioned by her disease became past endurance. 
Miss Jessie bore with her at these times even more pa- 
tiently than she did with the bitter self-upbraidings by 
which they were invariably succeeded. Miss Brown 
used to accuse herself, not merely of hasty and irritable 


44 


CRANFORD 


temper; but also of being the cause why her father and 
sister were obliged to pinch, in order to allow her the 
small luxuries which were necessaries in her condition. 
She would so fain have made sacrifices for them and 
have lightened their cares, that the original generosity 
of her disposition added acerbity to her temper. All 
this was borne by Miss Jessie and her father with more 
than placidity — ^with absolute tenderness. I forgave 
Miss Jessie her singing out of tune, and her juvenility 
of dress, when I saw her at home. I came to perceive 
that Captain Brown’s dark Brutus wig ^ and padded 
coat (alas! too often threadbare) were remnants of the 
military smartness of his youth, which he now wore 
unconsciously. He was a man of infinite resources, 
gained in his barrack experience. As he confessed, no 
one could black his boots to please him, except himself ; 
but, indeed, he was not above saving the little maid- 
servant’s labors in every way — knowing, most likely, 
that his daughter’s illness made the place a hard one. 

He endeavored to make peace with Miss Jenkyns 
soon after the memorable dispute I have named, by a 
present of a wooden fire-shovel (his own making), hav- 
ing heard her say how much the grating of an iron one 
annoyed her. She received the present with cool grati- 
tude, and thanked him formally. When he was gone, 
she bade me put it away in the lumber room, feeling, 
probably, that no present from a man who preferred 
Mr. Boz to Dr. Johnson could be less jarring than an 
iron fire-shovel. 

Such was the state of things when I left Cranford 


THE CAPTAIN 


45 


and went to Drumble. I had, however, several cor- 
respondents who kept me au fait ^ as to the proceedings 
of the dear little town. There was Miss Pole, who was 
becoming as much absorbed in crochet as she had been 
once in knitting; and the burden of whose letter was 
something like, ^‘But don’t you forget the white worsted 
at Flint’s,” of the old song; for at the end of every 
sentence of news came a fresh direction as to some 
crochet commission which I was to execute for her. 
Miss Matilda Jenkyns (who did not mind being called 
Miss Matty when Miss Jenkyns was not by) wrote 
nice, kind, rambling letters; now and then venturing 
into an opinion of her own, but suddenly pulling herself 
up and either begging me not to name what she had 
said, as Deborah thought differently, and she knew; or 
else putting in a postscript to the effect that, since writ- 
ing the above, she had been talking over the subject 
with Deborah, and was quite convinced that, etc. — 
(here, probably, followed a recantation of every opinion 
she had given in the letter) . Then came Miss Jenkyns — 
Deborah, as she liked Miss Matty to call her; her father 
having once said that the Hebrew name ought to be 
so pronounced. I secretly think she took the Hebrew 
prophetess ^ for a model in character; and, indeed, she 
was not unlike the stern prophetess in some ways, mak- 
ing allowance, of course, for modern customs and dif- 
ference in dress. Miss Jenkyns wore a cravat and a 
little bonnet like a jockey-cap, and altogether had the 
appearance of a strong-minded woman; although she 
would have despised the modern idea of women being 


46 


CRANFORD 


equal to men. Equal, indeed! she knew they were su- 
perior. But to return to her letters. Everything in 
them was stately and grand like herself. I have been 
looking them over (dear Miss Jenk3uis, how I honored 
her!) and I will give an extract, more especially because 
it relates to our friend Captain Brown: 

^^The Honorable Mrs. Jamieson has only just quitted 
me; and, in the course of conversation, she communi- 
cated to me the intelligence that she had yesterday re- 
ceived a call from her revered husband^s quondam 
friend. Lord Mauleverer. You will not easily conjec- 
ture what brought his Lordship within the precincts 
of our little town. It was to see Captain Brown, with 
whom, it appears, his Lordship was acquainted in the 
‘plumed wars,’ ^ and who had the privilege of averting 
destruction from his Lordship’s head, when some great 
peril was impending over it, off the misnomered Cape of 
Good Hope. You know our friend the Honorable Mrs. 
Jamieson’s deficiency in the spirit of innocent curiosity; 
and you will therefore not be so much surprised when 
I tell you she was quite unable to disclose to me the 
exact nature of the peril in question. I was anxious, 
I confess, to ascertain in what manner Captain Brown, 
with his limited establishment, could receive so dis- 
tinguished a guest, and I discovered that his Lordship 
retired to rest, and, let us hope, to refreshing slumbers, 
at the Angel Hotel, but shared the Brunonian ^ meals 
during the two days that he honored Cranford with 
his august presence. Mrs. Johnson, our civil butcher’s 


THE CAPTAIN 


47 


wife, informs me that Miss Jessie purchased a leg of 
lamb; but besides this, I can hear of no preparation 
whatever to give a suitable reception to so distinguished 
a visitor. Perhaps they entertained him with Hhe 
feast of reason and the flow of souP; ^ and to us, who 
are acquainted with Captain Brownes sad want of relish 
for Hhe pure wells of English undefiled,’ ^ it may be 
matter for congratulation that he has had the oppor- 
tunity of improving his taste by holding converse with 
an elegant and refined member of the British aristoc- 
racy. But from some mundane failings who is alto- 
gether free?” 

Miss Pole and Miss Matty wrote to me by the same 
post. Such a piece of news as Lord Mauleverer’s visit 
was not to be lost on the Cranford letter-writers; they 
made the most of it. Miss Matty humbly apologized 
for writing at the same time as her sister, who was so 
much more capable than she to describe the honor done 
to Cranford; but, in spite of a little bad spelling. Miss 
Matty’s account gave me the best idea of the com- 
motion occasioned by his lordship’s visit, after it had oc- 
curred; for, except the people at the Angel, the Browns, 
Mrs. Jamieson, and a little lad his lordship had sworn 
at for driving a dirty hoop against the aristocratic legs, 
I could not hear of any one with whom his lordship 
had held conversation. 

My next visit to Cranford was in the summer. There 
had been neither births, deaths, nor marriages since I 
was there last. Everybody lived in the same house, 
and wore pretty nearly the same well-preserved, old- 


48 


CRANFORD 


fashioned clothes. The greatest event was, that the 
Miss Jenkynses had purchased a new carpet for the 
drawing-room. Oh, the busy work Miss Matty and 
I had in chasing the sunbeams, as they fell in an after- 
noon right down on this carpet through the blindless 
window! We spread newspapers over the places, and 
sat down to our book or our work; and lo! in a quarter 
of an hour the sun had moved, and was blazing away 
on a fresh spot; and down again we went on our knees 
to alter the position of the newspapers. We were very 
busy, too, one whole morning before Miss Jenkyns gave 
her party, in following her directions, and in cutting 
out and stitching together pieces of newspaper, so as 
to form little paths to every chair, set for the expected 
visitors, lest their shoes might dirty or defile the purity 
of the carpet. Do you make paper paths for every 
guest to walk upon in London? 

Captain Brown and Miss Jenkyns were not very 
cordial to each other. The literary dispute, of which 
I had seen the beginning, was a ^^raw,^^ the slightest 
touch on which made them wince. It was the only 
difference of opinion they had ever had; but that dif- 
ference was enough. Miss Jenkyns could not refrain 
from talking at Captain Brown; and though he did not 
reply, he drummed with his fingers; which action she 
felt and resented as very disparaging to Dr. Johnson. 
He was rather ostentatious in his preference of the 
writings of Mr. Boz; would walk through the streets so 
absorbed in them, that he all but ran against Miss 
Jenkyns; and though his apologies were earnest and 


THE CAPTAIN 


49 


sincere, and though he did not, in fact, do more than 
startle her and himself, she owned to me she had rather 
he had knocked her down, if he had only been reading 
a higher style of literature. The poor, brave Captain! 
he looked older, and more worn, and his clothes were 
very threadbare. But he seemed as bright and cheer- 
ful as ever, unless he was asked about his daughter's 
health. 

“She suffers a great deal, and she must suffer more; 
we do what we can to alleviate her pain — God^s will be 
done I He took off his hat at these last words. I 
found, from Miss Matty, that everything had been 
done, in fact. A medical man, of high repute in that 
country neighborhood, had been sent for, and every 
injunction he had given was attended to, regardless of 
expense. Miss Matty was sure they denied themselves 
many things in order to make the invalid comfortable; 
but they never spoke about it; and as for Miss Jessie! 
“I really think she^s an angeV^ said poor Miss Matty, 
quite overcome. “To see her way of bearing with 
Miss Brown’s crossness, and the bright face she puts on 
after she’s been sitting up a whole night, and scolded 
above half of it, is quite beautiful. Yet she looks as 
neat and as ready to welcome the Captain at breakfast- 
time, as if she had been asleep in the queen’s bed all 
night. My dear! you could never laugh at her prim 
little curls or her pink bows again, if you saw her as I 
have done.” I could only feel very penitent, and greet 
Miss Jessie with double respect when I met her next. 
She looked faded and pinched; and her lips began to 


50 


CRANFORD 


quiver, as if she was very weak, when she spoke of her 
sister. But she brightened, and sent back the tears 
that were glittering in her pretty eyes, as she said: 

^^But, to be sure, what a town Crtoford is for kind- 
ness! I don’t suppose any one has a better dinner than 
usual cooked, but the best part of all comes in a little 
covered basin for my sister. The poor people will leave 
their earliest vegetables at our door for her. They 
speak short and gruff, as if they were ashamed of it; 
but I am sure it often goes to my heart to see their 
thoughtfulness.” The tears now came back and over- 
flowed; but after a minute or two she began to scold 
herself, and ended by going away, the same cheerful 
Miss Jessie as ever. 

^^But why does not this Lord Mauleverer do some- 
thing for the man who saved his life?” said I. 

‘^Why, you see, unless Captain Brown has some rea- 
son for it he never speaks about being poor; and he 
walked along by his lordship, looking as happy and 
cheerful as a prince; and as they never called attention 
to their dinner by apologies, and as Miss Brown was 
better that day, and all seemed bright, I dare say his 
lordship never knew how much care there was in the 
background. He did send game in the winter pretty 
often, but now he is gone abroad.” 

I had often occasion to notice the use that was made 
of fragments and small opportunities in Cranford; the 
rose-leaves that were gathered ere they fell, to make into 
a pot-pourri for some one who had no garden; the little 
bundles of lavender flowers sent to strew the drawers of 


THE CAPTAIN 


51 


some town-dweller, or to burn in the chamber of some 
invalid. Things that many would despise, and actions 
which it seemed scarcely worth while to perform, were 
all attended to in Cranford. Miss Jenkyns stuck an 
apple full of cloves, to be heated and smell pleasantly in 
Miss Brown’s room; and as she put in each clove, she 
uttered a Johnsonian sentence. Indeed, she never 
could think of the Browns without talking Johnson; 
and, as they were seldom absent from her thoughts 
just then, I heard many a rolling three-piled sen- 
tence. 

Captain Brown called one day to thank Miss Jenkyns 
for many little kindnesses, which I did not know until 
then that she had rendered. He had suddenly become 
like an old man; his deep bass voice had a quavering in 
it; his eyes looked dim, and the lines on his face were 
deep. He did not — could not — speak cheerfully of his 
daughter’s state, but he talked with manly, pious 
resignation, and not much. Twice over he said, What 
Jessie has been to us, God only knows!” and after the 
second time, he got up hastily, shook hands all round 
without speaking, and left the room. 

That afternoon we perceived little groups in the 
street, all listening with faces aghast to some tale or 
other. Miss Jenkyns wondered what could be the 
matter, for some time before she took the undignified 
step of sending Jenny out to inquire. 

Jenny came back with a white face of terror. ^^Oh, 
ma’am! oh. Miss Jenkyns, ma’am! Captain Brown 
is killed by them nasty cruel railroads!” and she burst 


52 


CRANFORD 


into tears. She, along with many others, had expe- 
rienced the poor Captain’s kindness. 

^^How? where — where? Good God! Jenny, don’t 
waste time in crying, but tell us something.” Miss 
Matty rushed out into the street at once, and collared 
the man who was telling the tale. 

Come in — come to my sister at once — Miss Jenkyns, 
the rector’s daughter. Oh, man, man! say it is not 
true,” she cried, as she brought the affrighted carter, 
sleeking down his hair, into the drawing-room, where he 
stood with his wet boots on the new carpet, and no one 
regarded it. 

Please, mum, it is true. I seed it myself,” and he 
shuddered at the recollection. ^'The Captain was a- 
reading some new book as he was deep in, a-waiting for 
the down train; and there was a little lass as wanted to 
come to its mammy, and gave its sister the slip, and 
came toddling across the line. And he looked up sudden 
at the sound of the train coming, and seed the child, 
and he darted on the line and cotched it up, and his foot 
slipped, and the train came over him in no time. Oh, 
Lord, Lord! Mum, it’s quite true — ^and they’ve come 
over to tell his daughters. The child’s safe, though, 
with only a bang on its shoulder, as he threw it to its 
mammy. Poor Captain would be glad of that, mum, 
wouldn’t he? God bless him!” The great rough carter 
puckered up his manly face and turned away to hide 
his tears. I turned to Miss Jenkyns. She looked very 
ill, as if she were going to faint, and signed to me to 
open the window. 


THE CAPTAIN 


53 


Matilda, bring me my bonnet. I must go to those 
girls. God pardon me if ever I have spoken contemptu- 
ously to the Captain 

Miss Jenkyns arrayed herself to go out, telling Miss 
Matilda to give the man a glass of wine. While she was 
away Miss Matty and I huddled over the fire, talking 
in a low and awestruck voice. I know we cried quietly 
all the time. 

Miss Jenkyns came home in a silent mood, and we 
durst not ask her many questions. She told us that 
Miss Jessie had fainted, and that she and Miss Pole had 
had some difficulty in bringing her round; but that, as 
soon as she recovered, she begged one of them to go and 
sit with her sister. 

^^Mr. Hoggins says she cannot live many days, and 
she shall be spared this shock, said Miss Jessie, shiver- 
ing with feelings to which she dared not give way. 

‘^But how can you manage, my dear?’^ asked Miss 
Jenkyns; ^^you cannot bear up, she must see your 
tears.^^ 

^^God will help me — I will not give way — she was 
asleep when the news came; she may be asleep yet. She 
would be so utterly miserable, not merely at my father’s 
death, but to think of what would become of me; she is 
so good to me.” She looked up earnestly in their faces 
with her soft true eyes, and Miss Pole told Miss Jenkyns 
afterward she could hardly bear it, knowing, as she did, 
how Miss Brown treated her sister. 

However, it was settled according to Miss Jessie’s 
wish. Miss Brown was to be told her father had been 


54 


CRANFORD 


summoned to take a short journey on railway business. 
They had managed it in some way — ^Miss Jenkyns could 
not exactly say how. Miss Pole was to stop with Miss 
Jessie. Mrs. Jamieson had sent to inquire. And this 
was all we heard that night; and a sorrowful night it 
was. The next day a full account of the fatal accident 
was in the county paper, which Miss Jenkyns took in. 
Her eyes were very weak, she said, and she asked me to 
read it. When I came to the gallant gentleman was 
deeply engaged in the perusal of a number of Pickwick, 
which he had just received,’^ Miss Jenkyns shook her 
head long and solemnly, and then sighed out, ^^Poor, 
dear, infatuated man.” 

The corpse was to be taken from the station to the 
parish church, there to be interred. Miss Jessie had set 
her heart on following it to the grave, and no dissuasives 
could alter her resolve. Her restraint upon herself 
made her almost obstinate; she resisted all Miss Pole’s 
entreaties, and Miss Jenkyns’s advice. At last Miss 
Jenkyns gave up the point; and after a silence, which I 
feared portended some deep displeasure against Miss 
Jessie, Miss Jenkyns said she should accompany the 
latter to the funeral. 

^Ht is not fit for you to go alone. It would be against 
both propriety and humanity were I to allow it.” 

Miss Jessie seemed as if she did not half like this 
arrangement; but her obstinacy, if she had any, had 
been exhausted in her determination to go to the inter- 
ment. She longed, poor thing! I have no doubt, to cry 
alone over the grave of the dear father to whom she had 


THE CAPTAIN 


55 


been all in all; and to give way, for one little half hour, 
uninterrupted by S3nnpathy, and unobserved by friend- 
ship. But it was not to be. That afternoon Miss 
Jenkyns sent out for a yard of black crape, and em- 
ployed herself busily in trimming the little black silk 
bonnet I have spoken about. When it was finished she 
put it on, and looked at us for approbation — ^admiration 
she despised. I was full of sorrow; but, by one of those 
whimsical thoughts which come unbidden into our 
heads, in times of deepest grief, I no sooner saw the 
bonnet than I was reminded of a helmet; and in that 
hybrid bonnet, half helmet, half jockey-cap, did Miss 
Jenkyns attend Captain Brown’s funeral, and I be- 
lieve supported Miss Jessie with a tender indulgent 
firmness which was invaluable, allowing her to weep her 
passionate fill before they left. 

Miss Pole, Miss Matty, and I, meanwhile, attended 
to Miss Brown; and hard work we found it to relieve her 
querulous and never-ending complaints. But if we were 
so weary and dispirited, what must Miss Jessie have 
been! Yet she came back almost calm, as if she had 
gained a new strength. She put off her mourning dress, 
and came in looking pale and gentle, thanking us each 
with a soft, long pressure of the hand. She could even 
smile — a faint, sweet, wintry smile, as if to reassure us 
of her power to endure; but her look made our eyes fill 
suddenly with tears, more than if she had cried outright. 

It was settled that Miss Pole was to remain with her 
all the watching, livelong night; and that Miss Matty 
and I were to return in the morning to relieve them, and 


56 


CRANFORD 


give Miss Jessie the opportunity for a few hours of sleep. 
But when the morning came, Miss Jenkyns appeared at 
the breakfast table, equipped in her helmet bonnet, and 
ordered Miss Matty to stay at home, as she meant to go 
and help to nurse. She was evidently in a state of great 
friendly excitement, which she showed by eating her 
breakfast standing, and scolding the household all 
round. 

No nursing — no energetic strongminded woman 
could help Miss Brown now. There was that in the 
room as we entered, which was stronger than us all, and 
made us shrink into solemn, awestruck helplessness. 
Miss Brown was dying. We hardly knew her voice, it 
was so devoid of the complaining tone we had always 
associated with it. Miss Jessie told me afterward that 
it, and her face, too, were just what they had been 
formerly, when her mother^s death left her the young 
anxious head of the family, of whom only Miss Jessie 
survived. 

She was conscious of her sister^s presence, though not, 
I think, of ours. We stood a little behind the curtain. 
Miss Jessie knelt, with her face near her sister ^s, in order 
to catch the last soft, awful whispers. 

^^Oh, Jessie! Jessie! How selfish I have been! God 
forgive me for letting you sacrifice yourself for me as you 
did. I have so loved you — and yet I have thought only 
of myself. God forgive me!’^ 

^^Hush, love! hush!’’ said Miss Jessie, sobbing. 

^‘And my father! my dear, dear father! I will not 
complain now, if God will give me strength to be pa- 


THE CAPTAIN 


57 


tient. But, oh, Jessie! tell my father how I longed and 
yearned to see him at last, and to ask his forgiveness. 
He can never know now how I loved him — oh! if I might 
but tell him, before I die! What a life of sorrow his has 
been, and I have done so little to cheer him!’^ 

A light came into Miss Jessie^s face. Would it com- 
fort you, dearest, to think that he does know? Would it 
comfort you, love, to know that his cares, his sorrows — 
Her voice quivered; but she steadied it into calmness. 
^^Mary! he has gone before you to the place where the 
weary are at rest. He knows now how you loved him.^’ 
A strange look, which was not distress, came over 
Miss Brownes face. She did not speak for some time, 
but then we saw her lips form the words, rather than 
heard the soimd — Father, mother, Harry, Archy!’’ — 
then, as if it was a new idea throwing a filmy shadow 
over her darkened mind — “But you will be alone — 
Jessie!’^ 

Miss Jessie had been feeling this all during the silence, 
I think; for the tears rolled down her cheeks like rain, 
at these words; and she could not answer at first. Then 
she put her hands together tight, and lifted them up, 
and said — ^but not to us: 

“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.^’ 

In a few moments more. Miss Brown lay calm and 
still, never to sorrow or murmur more. 

After this second funeral. Miss Jenkyns insisted that 
Miss Jessie should come to stay with her, rather than go 
back to the desolate house, which, in fact, we learned 
from Miss Jessie, must now be given up, as she had not 


68 


CRANFORD 


wherewithal to maintain it. She had something above 
twenty pounds a year, besides the interest of the money 
for which the furniture would sell, but she could not live 
upon that; and so we talked over her qualifications for 
earning money. 

“I can sew neatly,’^ said she, ^^and I like nursing. I 
think, too, I could manage a house, if any one would try 
me as housekeeper; or I would go into a shop as sales- 
woman if they would have patience with me at first.^’ 

Miss Jenkyns declared, in an angry voice, that she 
should do no such thing; and talked to herself about 
^^some people having no idea of their rank as a captain’s 
daughter,” nearly an hour afterwards, when she brought 
Miss Jessie up a basin of delicately-made arrowroot, and 
stood over her like a dragoon until the last spoonful 
was finished: then she disappeared. Miss Jessie began 
to tell me some more of the plans which had suggested 
themselves to her, and insensibly fell into talking of the 
days that were past and gone, and interested me so 
much, I neither knew nor heeded how time passed. We 
were both startled when Miss Jenkyns reappeared, and 
caught us crying. I was afraid lest she would be dis- 
pleased, as she often said that crying hindered digestion, 
and I knew she wanted Miss Jessie to get strong; but, 
instead, she looked queer and excited, and fidgeted 
round us without saying anything. At last she spoke. 

have been so much startled — no. I’ve not been at all 
startled — don’t mind me, my dear Miss Jessie — I’ve 
been very much surprised — in fact, I’ve had a caller, 
whom you knew once, my dear Miss Jessie — ” 


THE CAPTAIN 


59 


Miss Jessie went very white, then flushed scarlet^ and 
looked eagerly at Miss Jenkyns. 

gentleman, my dear, who wants to know if you 
would see him/’ 

^^Is it? it is not — ” stammered out Miss Jessie, and 
got no farther. 

^^This is his card,” said Miss Jenkyns, giving it to 
Miss Jessie; and while her head was bent over it Miss 
Jenkyns went through a series of winks and odd faces to 
me, and formed her lips into a long sentence, of which, 
of course, I could not understand a word. 

^^May he come up?” asked Miss Jenkyns at last. 

''Oh, yes! certainly!” said Miss Jessie, as much as to 
say, this is your house, you may show any visitor where 
you like. She took up some knitting of Miss Matty’s 
and began to be very busy, though I could see how she 
trembled all over. 

Miss Jenkyns rang the bell, and told the servant who 
answered it to show Major Gordon up-stairs; and 
presently in walked a tall, fine, frank-looking man of 
forty, or upward. He shook hands with Miss Jessie; but 
he could not see her eyes, she kept them so fixed on the 
ground. Miss Jenkyns asked me if I would come and 
help her to tie up the preserves in the storeroom; and 
though Miss Jessie plucked at my gown, and even 
looked up at me with begging eye, I durst not refuse to 
go where Miss Jenkyns asked. Instead of tying up 
preserves in the storeroom, however, we went to talk in 
the dining-room; and there Miss Jenkyns told me what 
Major Gordon had told her; how he had served in the 


60 


CRANFORD 


same regiment with Captain Brown, and had become 
acquainted with Miss Jessie, then a sweet-looking, 
blooming girl of eighteen; how the acquaintance had 
grown into love on his part, though it had been some 
years before he had spoken; how, on becoming possessed, 
through the will of an uncle, of a good estate in Scot- 
land, he had offered, and been refused, though with so 
much agitation and evident distress, that he was sure 
she was not indifferent to him; and how he had dis- 
covered that the obstacle was the fell disease which was, 
even then, too surely threatening her sister. She had 
mentioned that the surgeons foretold intense suffering; 
and there was no one but herself to nurse her poor Mary, 
or cheer and comfort her father during the time of 
illness. They had had long discussions; and on her 
refusal to pledge herself to him as his wife, when all 
should be over, he had grown angry, and broken off 
entirely, and gone abroad, believing that she was a 
cold-hearted person, whom he would do well to forget. 
He had been traveling in the East, and was on his return 
home, when, at Rome, he saw the account of Captain 
Brownes death in Galignani, ^ 

Just then Miss Matty, who had been out all the 
morning and had only lately returned to the house, 
burst in with a face of dismay and outraged propriety. 

^^Oh, goodness me!’^ she said. Deborah, there’s a 
gentleman sitting in the drawing-room, with his arm 
round Miss Jessie’s waist!” Miss Matty’s eyes looked 
large with terror. 

Miss Jenkyns snubbed her down in an instant: 


THE CAPTAIN 


61 


‘^The most proper place in the world for his arm tO be 
in. Go away, Matilda, and mind your own business.’^ 
This from her sister, who had hitherto been a model of 
feminine decorum, was a blow for poor Miss Matty, and 
with a double shock she left the room. 

The last time I ever saw poor Miss Jenkyns was many 
years after this. Mrs. Gordon had kept up a warm and 
affectionate intercourse with all at Cranford. Miss Jen- 
kyns, Miss Matty, and Miss Pole had all been to visit 
her, and returned with wonderful accounts of her house, 
her husband, her dress and her looks. For, with happi- 
ness, something of her early bloom returned; she had 
been a year or two yoimger than we had taken her for. 
Her eyes were always lovely, and, as Mrs. Gordon, her 
dimples were not out of place. At the time to which I 
have referred, when I last saw Miss Jenkyns, that lady 
was old and feeble and had lost something of her strong 
mind. Little Flora Gordon was staying with the Misses 
Jenkyns, and when I came in she was reading aloud to 
Miss Jenkyns, who lay feeble and changed on the sofa. 
Flora put down the Rambler when I came in. 

Ah!” said Miss Jenkyns, ^^you find me changed, my 
dear. I canT see as I used to do. If Flora were not here 
to read to me, I hardly know how I should get through 
the day. Did you ever read the Rambler? It^s a won- 
derful book — ^wonderful! and the most improving read- 
ing for Flora” — (which I dare say it would have been, 
if she could have read half the words without spelling, 
and could have understood the meaning of a third) — 
‘^better than that strange old book, with the queer 


62 


CRANFORD 


name, poor Captain Brown was killed for reading — 
that book by Mr. Boz, you know — Old Poz;'^ when I was 
a girl, but that’s a long time ago — I acted ^Lucy’ in 
Old Poz ^^ — she babbled on long enough for Flora to get 
a good long spell at the Christmas Carol, which Miss 
Matty had left on the table. 


CHAPTER III 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 

I THOUGHT that probably my connection with Cran- 
ford would cease after Miss Jenkyns’s death; at least, 
that it would have to be kept up by correspondence, 
which bears much the same relation to personal inter- 
course that the books of dried plants I sometimes see 
(Hortus Siccus,^ I think they call the thing) do to the 
living and fresh flowers in the lanes and meadows. I 
was pleasantly surprised, therefore, by receiving a 
letter from Miss Pole (who had always come in for a 
supplementary week after my annual visit to Miss 
Jenkyns), proposing that I should go and stay with her; 
and then, in a couple of days after my acceptance, came 
a note from Miss Matty, in which, in a rather circuitous 
and very humble manner, she told me how much pleas- 
ure I should confer if I could spend a week or two with 
her, either before or after I had been at Miss Pole’s; 
“for,” she said, “since my dear sister’s death I am well 
aware I have no attractions to offer; it is only to the 
kindness of my friends that I can owe their company.” 

Of course, I promised to come to dear Miss Matty as 
soon as I had ended my visit to Miss Pole; and the day 
after my arrival at Cranford, I went to see her, much 
wondering what the house would be like without Miss 
63 


64 


chanford 


Jenkyns, and rather dreading the changed aspect of 
things. Miss Matty began to cry as soon as she saw me. 
She was evidently nervous from having anticipated my 
call. I comforted her as well as I could; and I found the 
best consolation I could give was the honest praise that 
came from my heart as I spoke of the deceased. Miss 
Matty slowly shook her head over each virtue as it was 
named and attributed to her sister; at last she could not 
restrain the tears which had long been silently flowing, but 
hid her face behind her handkerchief, and sobbed aloud. 

^^Dear Miss Matty! said I, taking her hand; for in- 
deed I did not know in what way to tell her how sorry I 
was for her, left deserted in the world. She put down 
her handkerchief, and said: 

‘^My dear, I’d rather you did not call me Matty. 
She did not like it; but I did many a thing she did not 
like, I’m afraid — and now she’s gone! If you please, my 
love, will you call me Matilda?” 

I promised faithfully, and began to practise the new 
name with Miss Pole that very day; and, by degrees. 
Miss Matilda’s feeling on the subject was known 
through Cranford, and we all tried to drop the more 
familiar name, but with so little success that by and by 
we gave up the attempt. 

My visit to Miss Pole was very quiet. Miss Jenkyns 
had so long taken the lead in Cranford that, now she was 
gone, they hardly knew how to give a party. The Hon- 
orable Mrs. Jamieson, to whom Miss Jenkyns herself 
had always yielded the post of honor, was fat and inert, 
and very much at the mercy of her old servants. If 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


65 


they chose that she should give a party, they reminded 
her of the necessity for so doing; if not, she let it alone. 
There was all the more time for me to hear old-world 
stories from Miss Pole, while she sat knitting, and I 
making my father’s shirts. I always took a quantity of 
plain sewing to Cranford; for, as we did not read much, 
or walk much, I found it a capital time to get through 
my work. One of Miss Pole’s stories related to a shadow 
of a love affair that was dimly perceived or suspected 
long years before. 

Presently the time arrived when I was to remove to 
Miss Matilda’s house. I found her timid and anxious 
about the arrangements for my comfort. Many a time, 
while I was unpacking, did she come backward and for- 
ward to stir the fire, which burned all the worse for being 
so frequently poked. 

^‘Have you drawers enough, dear?” asked she. 
don’t know exactly how my sister used to arrange them. 
She had capital methods. I am sure she would have 
trained a servant in a week to make a better fire than 
this, and Fanny has been with me four months.” 

This subject of servants was a standing grievance, 
and I could not wonder much at it; for if gentlemen 
were scarce, and almost unheard of in the “genteel 
society” of Cranford, they or their counterparts — hand- 
some young men — abounded in the lower classes. The 
pretty neat servant-maids had their choice of desirable 
“followers”; and their mistresses, without having the 
sort of mysterious dread of men and matrimony that 
Miss Matilda had, might well feel a little anxious lest 


66 


CRANFORD 


the heads of their comely maids should be turned by 
the joiner, or the butcher, or the gardener, who were 
obliged, by their callings, to come to the house, and who, 
as ill luck would have it, were generally handsome and 
unmarried. Fanny’s lovers, if she had any — and Miss 
Matilda suspected her of so many flirtations that, if 
she had not been very pretty, I should have doubted 
her having one — ^were a constant anxiety to her mis- 
tress. She was forbidden, by the articles of her engage- 
ment, to have ‘^followers”; and though she had an- 
swered innocently enough, doubling up the hem of her 
apron as she spoke, Please, ma’am, I never had more 
than one at a time,” Miss Matty prohibited that one. 
But a vision of a man seemed to haunt the kitchen. 
Fanny assured me that it was all fancy; or else I should 
have said myself that I had seen a man’s coat-tails 
whisk into the scullery once, when I went on an errand 
into the storeroom at night; and another evening, when, 
our watches having stopped, I went to look at the clock, 
there was a very odd appearance, singularly like a 
young man squeezed up between the clock and the 
back of the open kitchen door; and I thought Fanny 
snatched up the candle very hastily, so as to throw the 
shadow on the clock face, while she very positively told 
me the time half an hour too early, as we found out 
afterward by the church clock. But I did not add to 
Miss Matty’s anxieties by naming my suspicions, es- 
pecially as Fanny said to me, the next day, that it was 
such a queer kitchen for having odd shadows about it, 
she really was almost afraid to stay; ^'for you know, 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


67 


miss/^ she added, don^t see a creature from six 
o^clock tea till missus rings the bell for prayers at ten/’ 
However, it so fell out that Fanny had to leave; and 
Miss Matilda begged me to stay and settle her” with 
the new maid; to which I consented, after I had heard 
from my father that he did not want me at home. The 
new servant was a rough, honest-looking country girl, 
who had only lived in a farm place before; but I liked 
her looks when she came to be hired; and I promised 
Miss Matilda to put her in the ways of the house. The 
said ways were religiously such as Miss Matilda thought 
her sister would approve. Many a domestic rule and 
regulation had been a subject of plaintive whispered 
murmur to me, during Miss Jenkyns’s life, but now that 
she was gone, I do not think that even I, who was a 
favorite, durst have suggested an alteration. To give 
an instance: we constantly adhered to the forms which 
were observed, at meal times, in “my father, the rec- 
tor’s house.” Accordingly, we had always wine and 
dessert; but the decanters were only filled when there 
was a party; and what remained was seldom touched, 
though we had two wine-glasses apiece every day after 
dinner, until the next festive occasion arrived, when the 
state of the remainder wine was examined into, in a 
family council. The dregs were often given to the poor; 
but occasionally, when a good deal had been left at the 
last party (five months ago, it might be), it was added 
to some of a fresh bottle, brought up from the cellar. 
I fancy poor Captain Brown did not much like wine; 
for I noticed he never finished his first glass, and most 


68 


CRANFORD 


military men take several. Then, as to our dessert, Miss 
Jenkyns used to gather currants and gooseberries for 
it herself, which I sometimes thought would have tasted 
better fresh from the trees; but then, as Miss Jenkyns 
observed, there would have been nothing for dessert in 
summer-time. As it was, we felt very genteel with our 
two glasses apiece, and a dish of gooseberries at the 
top, of currants and biscuits at the sides, and two 
decanters at the bottom. When oranges came in, a 
curious proceeding was gone through. Miss Jenkyns 
did not like to cut the fruit; for, as she observed, the 
juice all ran out nobody knew where; sucking (only I 
think she used some more recondite word) was, in fact, 
the only way of enjoying oranges; but then there was 
the unpleasant association with a ceremony frequently 
gone through by little babies; and so, after dessert, in 
orange season. Miss Jenkyns and Miss Matty used to 
rise up, possess themselves each of an orange in silence, 
and withdraw to the privacy of their own rooms, to in- 
dulge in sucking oranges. 

I had once or twice tried, on such occasions, to pre- 
vail on Miss Matty to stay; and had succeeded in her 
sister’s lifetime. I held up a screen, and did not look, 
and, as she said, she tried not to make the noise very 
offensive; but now that she was left alone, she seemed 
quite horrified when I begged her to remain with me in 
the warm dining-parlor, and enjoy her orange as she 
liked best. And so it was in everything. Miss Jenkyns’s 
rules were made more stringent than ever, because the 
framer of them was gone where there could be no appeal. 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 69 

In all things else Miss Matilda was meek and undecided 
to a fault. I have heard Fanny turn her round twenty 
times in a morning about dinner, just as the little hussy 
chose; and I sometimes fancied she worked on Miss 
Matilda^s weakness in order to bewilder her, and to 
make her feel more in the power of her clever servant. 
I determined that I would not leave her till I had seen 
what sort of a person Martha was; and, if I found her 
trustworthy, I would tell her not to trouble her mistress 
with every little decision. 

Martha was blunt and plain-spoken to a fault, other- 
wise she was a brisk, well-meaning, but very ignorant 
girl. She had not been with us a week before Miss 
Matilda and I were astounded one morning by the 
receipt of a letter from a cousin of hers, who had been 
twenty or thirty years in India, and who had lately, as 
we had seen by the Army List,^ returned to England, 
bringing with him an invalid wife, who had never been 
introduced to her English relations. Major Jenkyns 
wrote to propose that he and his wife should spend a 
night at Cranford, on his way to Scotland — at the inn, 
if it did not spit Miss Matilda to receive them into her 
house; in which case they should hope to be with her as 
much as possible during the day. Of course it must suit 
her, as she said; for all Cranford knew that she had her 
sister^s bedroom at liberty; but I am sure she wished 
the Major had stopped in India and forgotten his 
cousins out and out. 

^^Oh, how must I manage?^’ asked she helplessly. 
‘‘If Deborah had been alive, she would have known 


70 


CRANFORD 


what to do with a gentleman visitor. Must I put razors 
in his dressing-room? Dear! dear! and IVe got none. 
Deborah would have had them. And slippers, and coat 
brushes? I suggested that probably he would bring 
all these things with him. ^^And after dinner, how am 
I to know when to get up, and leave him to his wine? 
Deborah would have done it so well; she would have 
been quite in her element. Will he want coffee, do you 
think?’’ I undertook the management of the coffee, 
and told her I would instruct Martha in the art of 
waiting, in which it must be owned she was terribly 
deficient; and that I had no doubt Major and Mrs. 
Jenkyns would understand the quiet mode in which a 
lady lived by herself in a country town. But she was 
sadly fiuttered. I made her empty her decanters, and 
bring up two fresh bottles of wine. I wished I could 
have prevented her from being present at my instruc- 
tions to Martha; for she frequently cut in with some 
fresh direction, muddling the poor girl’s mind, as she 
stood open-mouthed, listening to us both. 

^^Hand the vegetables round,” said I (foolishly, I see 
now; for it was aiming at more than we could accom- 
plish with quietness and simplicity); and then, seeing 
her look bewildered, I added, ‘^Take the vegetables 
round to people, and let them help themselves.” 

^^And mind, you go first to the ladies,” put in Miss 
Matilda. '^Always go to the ladies before gentlemen, 
when you are waiting.” 

^^I’ll do it as you tell me, ma’am,” said Martha; ^^but 
I like lads best.” 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


71 


We felt very uncomfortable and shocked at this 
speech of Martha’s; yet I don’t think she meant any 
harm; and, on the whole, she attended very well to our 
directions, except that she ‘^nudged” the Major when 
he did not help himself as soon as she expected to the 
potatoes, while she was handing them round. 

The Major and his wife were quiet, unpretending 
people enough when they did come; languid, as all East 
Indians are, I suppose. We were rather dismayed at 
their bringing two servants with them, a Hindoo body- 
servant for the Major, and a steady elderly maid for his 
wife; but they slept at the inn, and took off a good deal 
of the responsibility by attending carefully to their 
master’s and mistress’s comfort. Martha, to be sure, 
had never ended her staring at the East Indian’s white 
turban and brown complexion, and I saw that Miss 
Matilda shrunk away from him a little as he waited at 
dinner. Indeed, she asked me, when they were gone, 
if he did not remind me of Blue Beard? On the whole, 
the visit was most satisfactory, and is a subject of 
conversation even now with Miss Matilda; at the time, 
it greatly excited Cranford, and even stirred up the 
apathetic and Honorable Mrs. Jamieson to some ex- 
pression of interest, when I v/ent to call and thank her 
for the kind answers she had vouchsafed to Miss 
Matilda’s inquiries as to the arrangement of a gentle- 
man’s dressing-room — answers which I must confess 
she had given in the wearied manner of the Scandina- 
vian prophetess — 

“ Leave me, leave me to repose.^^ ^ 


72 


CRANFORD 


And now I come to the love affair. 

It seems that Miss Pole had a cousin, once or twice 
removed, who had offered to Miss Matty long ago. 
Now, this cousin lived four or five miles from Cranford 
on his own estate ; but his property was not large enough 
to entitle him to rank higher than a yeoman : or rather, 
with something of the pride which apes humility,’’ ^ he 
had refused to push himself on, as so many of his class 
had done, into the ranks of the squires. He would not 
allow himself to be called Thomas Holbrook, Esq.; he 
even sent back letters with this address, telling the post- 
mistress at Cranford that his name was Mr. Thomas 
Holbrook, yeoman. He rejected all domestic innova- 
tions; he would have the house door stand open in 
summer, and shut in winter, without knocker or bell to 
summon a servant. The closed fist or the knob of the 
stick did this office for him, if he found the door locked. 
He despised every refinement which had not its root 
deep down in humanity. If people were not ill, he saw 
no necessity for moderating his voice. He spoke the 
dialect of the country in perfection, and constantly used 
it in conversation; although Miss Pole (who gave me 
these particulars) added, that he read aloud more 
beautifully and with more feeling than any one she had 
ever heard, except the late rector. 

^^And how came Miss Matilda not to marry him?” 
asked I. 

^^Oh, I don’t know. She was willing enough, I think; 
but you know Cousin Thomas would not have been 
enough of a gentleman for the rector and Miss Jenkyns.” 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


73 


^^Well! but they were not to marry him/^ said I, 
impatiently. 

“No; but they did not like Miss Matty to marry be- 
low her rank. You know she was the rector’s daughter, 
and somehow they are related to Sir Peter Arley: Miss 
Jenkyns thought a deal of that.” 

“Poor Miss Matty,” said I. 

“Nay, now, I don’t know anything more than that he' 
offered and was refused. Miss Matty might not like 
him — and Miss Jenkyns might never have said a 
word — it is only a guess of mine.” 

“ Has she never seen him since? ” I inquired. 

“No, I think not. You see, Woodley, Cousin 
Thomas’s house, lies half-way between Cranford and 
Misselton; and I know he made Misselton his market- 
town very soon after he had offered to Miss Matty; and 
I don’t think he has been into Cranford above once or 
twice since — once, when I was walking with Miss 
Matty, in High Street; and suddenly she darted from 
me, and went up Shire Lane. A few minutes after, I 
was startled by meeting Cousin Thomas.” 

“How old is he?” I asked, after a pause of castle- 
building. 

“He must be about seventy, I think, my dear,” said 
Miss Pole, blowing up my castle, as if by gunpowder, 
into small fragments. 

Very soon after — at least during my long visit to 
Miss Matilda — I had the opportunity of seeing Mr. 
Holbrook; seeing, too, his first encounter with his 
former love, after thirty or forty years’ separation. 


74 


CRANFORD 


I was helping to decide whether any of the new assort- 
ment of colored silks which they had just received at the 
shop would do to match a gray and black mousseline 
de laine^ that wanted a new breadth, when a tall, thin, 
Don Quixote-looking ^ old man came into the shop for 
some woolen gloves. I had never seen the person (who 
was rather striking) before, and I watched him rather 
attentively, while Miss Matty listened to the shopman. 
The stranger wore a blue coat with brass buttons, drab 
breeches, and gaiters, and drummed with his fingers on 
the counter until he was attended to. When he an- 
swered the shop-boy’s question, ^^What can I have the 
pleasure of showing you to-day, sir?” I saw Miss 
Matilda start, and then suddenly sit down; and in- 
stantly I guessed who it was. She had made some in- 
quiry which had to be carried round to the other shop- 
man. 

^‘Miss Jenk3ais wants the black sarcenet^ two and 
two-pence the yard;” and Mr. Holbrook had caught 
the name, and was across the shop in two strides. 

Matty — Miss Matilda — Miss Jenkyns! God bless 
my soul ! I should not have known you. How are you? 
how are you?” He kept shaking her hand in a way 
which proved the warmth of his friendship; but he re- 
peated so often, as if to himself, should not have 
known you!” that any sentimental romance which I 
might be inclined to build was quite done away with 
by his manner. 

However, he kept talking to us all the time we were in 
the shop; and then waving the shopman with the unpur- 


A LOVE AFFAIR OF LONG AGO 


75 


chased gloves on one side, with, “Another time, sir! an- 
other time!’^ he walked home with us. I am happy to 
say my client. Miss Matilda, also left the shop in an 
equally bewildered state, not having purchased either 
green or red silk. Mr. Holbrook was evidently full with 
honest loudspoken joy at meeting his old love again; he 
touched on the changes that had taken place, he even 
spoke of Miss Jenkyns as “Your poor sister! Well, 
well! we have all our faults;^’ and bade us good-by with 
many a hope that he should soon see Miss Matty again. 
She went straight to her room, and never came back 
till our early tea-time, when I thought she looked as if 
she had been crying. 


CHAPTER IV 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 

A FEW days after, a note came from Mr. Holbrook, 
asking us — impartially asking both of us — in a formal, 
old-fashioned style — to spend a day at his house — a 
long June day — for it was June now. He named that 
he had also invited his cousin. Miss Pole; so that we 
might join in a fly,^ which could be put up at his house. 

I expected Miss Matty to jump at this invitation; 
but, no! Miss Pole and I had the greatest difficulty in 
persuading her to go. She thought it was improper; 
and was even half annoyed when we utterly ignored the 
idea of any impropriety in her going with two other 
ladies to see her old lover. Then came a more serious 
difficulty. She did not think Deborah would have liked 
her to go. This took us half a day^s good hard talking 
to get over; but, at the first sentence of relenting, I 
seized the opportunity, and wrote and despatched an 
acceptance in her name — ^fixing day and hour, that all 
might be decided and done with. 

The next morning she asked me if I would go down 
to the shop with her; and there, after much hesitation, 
we chose out three caps to be sent home and tried on, 
that the most becoming might be selected to take with 
us on Thursday. 


76 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


77 


She was in a state of silent agitation all the way to 
Woodley. She had evidently never been there before; 
and, although she little dreamed I knew anything of her 
early story, I could perceive she was in a tremor at the 
thought of seeing the place which might have been her 
home, and round which it is probable that many of her 
innocent girlish imaginations had clustered. It was a 
long drive there, through paved jolting lanes. Miss 
Matilda sat bolt upright, and looked wistfully out of 
the windows, as we drew near the end of our journey. 
The aspect of the country was quiet and pastoral. 
Woodley stood among fields; and there was an old- 
fashioned garden, where roses and currant-bushes 
touched each other, and where the feathery asparagus 
formed a pretty background to the pinks and gilly- 
flowers. There was no drive up to the door: we got 
out at a little gate, and walked up a straight box-edged 
path. 

“My cousin might make a drive, I think,’^ said Miss 
Pole, who was afraid of earache, and had only her cap 
on. 

“I think it is very pretty, said Miss Matty, with a 
soft plaintiveness in her voice, and almost in a whisper; 
for just then Mr. Holbrook appeared at the door, 
rubbing his hands in very effervescence of hospitality. 
He looked more like my idea of Don Quixote than ever, 
and yet the likeness was only external. His respectable 
housekeeper stood modestly at the door to bid us wel- 
come; and, while she led the elder ladies up-stairs to a 
bedroom, I begged to look about the garden. My re- 


78 


CRANFORD 


quest evidently pleased the old gentleman, who took 
me all round the place, and showed me his six-and- 
twenty cows, named after the different letters of the 
alphabet. As we went along, he surprised me occasion- 
ally by repeating apt and beautiful quotations from the 
poets, ranging easily from Shakespeare and George 
Herbert ^ to those of our own day. He did this as nat- 
urally as if he were thinking aloud, and their true and 
beautiful words were the best expression he could find 
for what he was thinking or feeling. To be sure, he 
called Byron ^ ^^my Lord Byrron,’^ and pronounced 
the name of Goethe ^ strictly in accordance with the 
English sound of the letters — ^^As Goethe says, ^Ye 
ever-verdant palaces,^ etc. Altogether, I never met 
with a man, before or since, who had spent so long a 
life in a secluded and not impressive country, with 
ever-increasing delight in the daily and yearly change 
of season and beauty. 

When he and I went in, we found that dinner was 
nearly ready in the kitchen — for so I suppose the room 
ought to be called, as there were oak dressers and cup- 
boards all round, all over by the side of the fireplace, 
and only a small Turkey carpet^ in the middle of the 
flag-floor. The room might have been easily made into a 
handsome dark-oak dining-parlor, by removing the oven 
and a few other appurtenances of a kitchen, which were 
evidently never used; the real cooking place being at 
some distance. The room in which we were expected 
to sit was a stiffly furnished, ugly apartment; but that 
in which we did sit was what Mr. Holbrook called the 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


79 


counting-house, when he paid his laborers their weekly 
wages, at a great desk near the door. The rest of the 
pretty sitting-room — looking into the orchard, and all 
covered over with dancing tree-shadows — was filled 
with books. They lay on the ground, they covered the 
walls, they strewed the table. He was evidently half 
ashamed and half proud of his extravagance in this 
respect. They were of all kinds — poetry and wild 
weird tales prevailing. He evidently chose his books in 
accordance with his own tastes, not because such and 
such were classical or established favorites. 

he said, '^we farmers ought not to have much 
time for reading; yet somehow one canT help it.’^ 

^^What a pretty room!’^ said Miss Matty, sotto voce, 

^‘What a pleasant place said I aloud, almost 
simultaneously. 

“Nay! if you like it,^^ replied he; “but can you sit 
on these great black leather three-cornered chairs? I 
like it better than the best parlor; but I thought ladies 
would take that for the smarter place.’’ 

It was the smarter place; but, like most smart things, 
not at all pretty, or pleasant, or homelike; so, while we 
were at dinner, the servant-girl dusted and scrubbed the 
counting-house chairs, and we sat there all the rest of 
the day. 

We had pudding ^ before meat; and I thought Mr. 
Holbrook was going to make some apology for his old- 
fashioned ways, for he began: 

“I don’t know whether you like new-fangled ways.” 

“Oh! not at all!” said Miss Matty. 


80 


CRANFORD 


No more do I/’ said he. My housekeeper will have 
these in her new fashion; or else I tell her that, when I 
was a young man, we used to keep strictly to my father^s 
rule, ^No broth, no ball; ^ no ball, no beef;’ and always 
began dinner with broth. Then we had suet puddings, 
boiled in the broth with the beef ; and then the meat it- 
self. If we did not sup our broth, we had no ball, which 
we liked a deal better; and the beef came last of all, and 
only those had it who had done justice to the broth and 
the ball. Now folks begin with sweet things, and turn 
their dinners topsy-turvy.” 

When the ducks and green peas came we looked at 
each other in dismay; we had only two-pronged, black- 
handled forks. It is true, the steel was as bright as 
silver; but what were we to do? Miss Matty picked up 
her peas, one by one, on the point of her prongs, much 
as Amine ^ ate her grains of rice after her previous feast 
with the Ghoul. Miss Pole sighed over her delicate 
young peas as she left them on one side of her plate un- 
tasted; for they would drop between the prongs. I 
looked at my host; the peas were going wholesale into 
his capacious mouth, shoveled up by his large round- 
ended knife. I saw, I imitated, I survived ! ^ My friends, 
in spite of my precedent, could not muster up courage 
enough to do an ungenteel thing; and, if Mr. Holbrook 
had not been so heartily hungry, he would probably 
have seen that the good peas went away almost un- 
touched. 

After dinner, a clay pipe was brought in, and a. spit- 
toon; and, asking us to retire to another room, where he 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


81 


would soon join us, if we disliked tobacco smoke, he pre- 
sented his pipe to Miss Matty, and requested her to fill 
the bowl. This was a compliment to a lady in his youth ; 
but it was rather inappropriate to propose it as an honor 
to Miss Matty, who had been trained by her sister to 
hold smoking of every kind in utter abhorrence. But 
if it was a shock to her refinement, it was also a gratifica- 
tion to her feelings to be thus selected; sp she daintily 
stuffed the strong tobacco into the pipe; and then we 
withdrew. 

“It is very pleasant dining with a bachelor,’’ said 
Miss Matty, softly, as we settled ourselves in the 
counting-house. “I only hope it is not improper; so 
many pleasant things are!” 

“What a number of books he has!” said Miss Pole, 
looking round the room. “And how dusty they are!” 

“ I think it must be like one of the great Dr. Johnson’s 
rooms,” said Miss Matty. “What a superior man your 
cousin must be!” 

“Yes!” said Miss Pole; “he’s a great reader; but I am 
afraid he has got into very uncouth habits with living 
alone.” 

“Oh! uncouth is too hard a word. I should call him 
eccentric; very clever people always are!” replied Miss 
Matty. 

When Mr. Holbrook returned, he proposed a walk in 
the fields; but the two elder ladies were afraid of damp 
and dirt; and had only very unbecoming calashes ^ to put 
on over their caps; so they declined, and I was again his 
companion in a turn which he said he was obliged to 


82 


CRANFORD 


take, to see after his men. He strode along, either 
wholly forgetting my existence, or soothed into silence 
by his pipe — and yet it was not silence exactly. He 
walked before me, with a stooping gait, his hands 
clasped behind him; and, as some tree or cloud, or 
glimpse of distant upland pastures, struck him, he 
quoted poetry to himself; saying it out loud in a grand 
sonorous voice, with just the emphasis that true feeling 
and appreciation give. We came upon an old cedar 
tree, which stood at one end of the house; 

** The cedar spreads his dark-green layers of shade.^^ ^ 

Capital term — ^layers.’ Wonderful man!^^ I did 
not know whether he was speaking to me or not; but I 
put in an assenting Wonderful,’^ although I knew 
nothing about it; just because I was tired of being 
forgotten, and of being consequently silent. 

He turned sharp around. ^^Ay! you may say ^won- 
derful.’ Why, when I saw the review of his poems in 
Blackwood I set off within an hour, and walked seven 
miles to Misselton (for the horses were not in the way) 
and ordered them. Now, what color are ash-buds in 
March?” 

Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like 
Don Quixote. 

^'What color are they, I say?” repeated he, vehe- 
mently. 

am sure I don’t know, sir,” said I, with the meek- 
ness of ignorance. 

I knew you didn’t. No more did I — an old fool that 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


83 


I am ! — till this young man comes and tells me. Black 
as ash-buds in March. ^ And IVe lived all my life in the 
country; more shame for me not to know. Black — they 
are jet-black, madam.^^ And he went off again, swing- 
ing along to the music of some rhyme he had got hold of. 

When we came back, nothing would serve him but he 
must read us the poems he had been speaking of; and 
Miss Pole encouraged him in his proposal, I thought, be- 
cause she wished me to hear his beautiful reading, of 
which she had boasted; but she afterward said it was be- 
cause she had got to a difficult part of her crochet, and 
wanted to count her stitches without having to talk. 
Whatever he had proposed would have been right to 
Miss Matty; although she did fall sound asleep within 
five minutes after he had begun a long poem called 
Locksley Hallj and had a comfortable nap, unobserved, 
till he ended; when the cessation of his voice wakened 
her up, and she said, feeling that something was ex- 
pected, and that Miss Pole was counting: 

‘‘What a pretty book!’’ 

“Pretty! madam! it’s beautiful! Pretty, indeed!” 

“Oh, yes! I meant beautiful!” said she, fluttered at 
his disapproval of her word. “ It is so like that beautiful 
poem of Dr. Johnson’s my sister used to read — I forget 
the name of it; what was it, my dear?” turning to me. 

“Which do you mean, ma’am? What was it about? ” 

“I don’t remember what it was about, and I’ve quite 
forgotten what the name of it was; but it was written 
by Dr. Johnson, and was very beautiful, and very like 
what Mr. Holbrook has just been reading.” 


84 


CRANFORD 


don’t remember it/’ said he, reflectively. ^'But I 
don’t know Dr. Johnson’s poems well. I must read 
them.” 

As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr. 
Holbrook say he should call on the ladies soon, and in- 
quire how they got home; and this evidently pleased and 
fluttered Miss Matty at the time he said it; but after we 
had lost sight of the old house among the trees, her senti- 
ments toward the master of it were gradually absorbed 
into a distressing wonder as to whether Martha had 
broken her word, and seized on the opportunity of her 
mistress’s absence to have a follower.” Martha 
looked good, and steady, and composed enough, as she 
came to help us out; she was always careful of Miss 
Matty, and to-night she made use of this unlucky 
speech: 

^^Eh, dear ma’am, to think of your going out in an 
evening in such a thin shawl! It is no better than 
muslin. At your age, ma’am, you should be care- 
ful.” 

'^My age!” said Miss Matty, almost speaking erossly, 
for her; for she was usually gentle. ^^My age! Why, 
how old do you think I am, that you talk about my 
age?” 

^^Well, ma’am! I should say you were not far short 
of sixty; but folks’ looks is often against them — and 
I’m sure I meant no harm.” 

Martha, I’m not yet fifty-two!” said Miss Matty 
with grave emphasis; for probably the remembrance of 
her youth had come very vividly before her this day, 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


85 


and she was annoyed at finding that golden time so far 
away in the past. 

But she never spoke of any former and more intimate 
acquaintance with Mr. Holbrook. She had probably 
met with so little Sympathy in her early love, that she 
had shut it up close in her heart; and it was only by a 
sort of watching, which I could hardly avoid, since 
Miss Pole’s confidence, that I saw how faithful her poor 
heart had been in its sorrow and its silence. 

She gave me some good reason for wearing her best 
cap every day, and sat near the window, in spite of her 
rheumatism, in order to see, without being seen, down 
into the street. 

He came. He put his open palms upon his knees, 
which were far apart, as he sat with his head bent down, 
whistling, after we had replied to his inquiries about our 
safe return. Suddenly, he jumped up. 

^'Well, madam! have you any commands for Paris? 
I am going there in a week or two.” 

^^To Paris!” we both exclaimed. 

Yes, madam ! I’ve never been there, and always had 
a wish to go; and I think if I don’t go soon, I mayn’t go 
at all; so as soon as the hay is got in I shall go, before 
harvest-time.” 

We were so much astonished that we had no commis- 
sions. 

Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, 
with his favorite exclamation: 

^‘God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half 
my errand. Here are the poems for you, you admired 


86 


CRANFORD 


SO much the other evening at my house.’’ He tugged 
away at a parcel in his coat pocket. ‘^Good-by, miss,” 
said he; ^^good-by, Matty; take care of yourself.” And 
he was gone. But he had given her a book, and he had 
called her Matty, just as he used to do thirty years ago. 

I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss Matilda, 
anxiously. don’t believe frogs will agree with him; 
he used to have to be very careful what he ate, which 
was curious in so strong-looking a young man.” 

Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an 
injunction to Martha to look after her mistress, and to 
let me know if she thought that Miss Matilda was not 
so well; in which case I would volunteer a visit to my 
old friend, without noticing Martha’s intelligence to her. 

Accordingly, I received a line or two from Martha 
every now and then; and, about November, I had a 
note to say her mistress was very low and sadly off her 
food;” and the account made me so uneasy, that, al- 
though Martha did not decidedly summon me, I packed 
up my things and went. 

I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little 
flurry produced by my impromptu visit, for I had only 
been able to give a day’s notice. Miss Matilda looked 
miserably ill, and I prepared to comfort and cosset her. 

I went down to have a private talk with Martha. 

^^How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I 
asked, as I stood by the kitchen fire. 

^^Well! I think it’s better than a fortnight: it is, I 
know; it was one Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, 
that she went into this moping way. I thought she was 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


87 


tired, and it would go off with a night^s rest: but, no! 
she has gone on and on ever since, till I thought it my 
duty to write to you, ma^am/’ 

^^You did quite right, Martha. It is a comfort to 
think she has so faithful a servant about her. And I 
hope you find your place comfortable?’^ 

Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and there’s plenty 
to eat and drink, and no more work but what I can do 
easily — but” — Martha hesitated. 

^^But what, Martha?” 

“ Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have 
any followers; there’s such lots of young fellows in the 
town; and many a one has as much as offered to keep 
company with me; and I may never be in such a likely 
place again, and it’s like wasting an opportunity. 
Many a girl as I know would have ’em unbeknownst to 
missus; but I’ve given my word, and I’ll stick to it; or 
else this is just the house for missus never to be the 
wiser if they did come; and it’s such a capable kitchen — 
there’s such good dark corners in it — I’d be bound to 
hide any one. I counted up last Sunday night — for 
I’ll not deny I was crying because I had to shut the 
door in Jem Hearn’s face; and he’s a steady young man, 
fit for any girl; only I had given missus my word.” 
Martha was all but crying again, and I had little com- 
fort to give her, for I knew, from old experience, of the 
horror with which both the Misses Jenkyns looked upon 
“followers,” and in Miss Matty’s present nervous state 
this dread was not likely to be lessened. 

I went to see Miss Pole the next day, and took her 


88 


CRANFORD 


completely by surprise, for she had not been to see Miss 
Matilda for two days. 

^^And now I must go back with you, my dear; for I 
promised to let her know how Thomas Holbrook went 
on; and I’m sorry to say his housekeeper has sent me 
word to-day that he hasn’t long to live. Poor Thomas! 
That journey to Paris was quite too much for him. His 
housekeeper says he has hardly ever been round his 
fields since; but just sits with his hands on his knees in 
the counting-house, not reading or anything, but only 
saying, what a wonderful city Paris was! Paris has 
much to answer for, if it’s killed my cousin Thomas, for 
a better man never lived.” 

^^Does Miss Matilda know of his illness?” asked I, a 
new light as to the cause of her indisposition dawning 
upon me. 

^^Dear, to be sure, yes! Has not she told you? I let 
her know a fortnight ago, or more, when first I heard of 
it. How odd she shouldn’t have told you!” 

Not at all, I thought; but I did not say anything. I 
felt almost guilty of having spied too curiously into that 
tender heart, and I was not going to speak of its secrets — 
hidden, Miss Matty believed, from all the world. I 
ushered Miss Pole into Miss Matilda’s little drawing- 
room; and then left them alone. But I was not sur- 
prised when Martha came to my bedroom door to ask 
me to go down to dinner alone, for that missus had one 
of her bad headaches. She came into the drawing-room 
at tea-time; but it was evidently an effort to her; and, 
as if to make up for some reproachful feeling against 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


89 


her late sister, Miss Jenkyns, which had been troubling 
her all the afternoon, and for which she now felt pen- 
itent, she kept telling me how good and how clever 
Deborah was in her youth; how she used to settle what 
gowns they were to wear at all the parties (faint, 
ghostly ideas of grim parties far away in the distance, 
when Miss Matty and Miss Pole were young) ; and how 
Deborah and her mother had started the benefit society 
for the poor, and taught girls cooking and plain sewing; 
and how Deborah had once danced with a lord; and 
how she used to visit at Sir Peter Arley^s, and try to 
remodel the quiet rectory establishment on the plans 
of Arley Hall, where they kept thirty servants; and how 
she had nursed Miss Matty through a long, long illness, 
of which I had never heard before, but which I now 
dated in my own mind as following the dismissal of the 
suit of Mr. Holbrook. So we talked softly and quietly 
of old times, through the long November evening. 

The next day Miss Pole brought us word that Mr. 
Holbrook was dead. Miss Matty heard the news in 
silence; in fact, from the account of the previous day, it 
was only what we had to expect.' Miss Pole kept calling 
upon us for some expression of regret, by asking if it 
was not sad that he was gone; and saying: 

‘^To think of that pleasant day last June, when he 
seemed so well! And he might have lived this dozen 
years if he had not gone to that wicked Paris, where 
they are always having revolutions.’^ 

She paused for some demonstration on our part. I 
saw Miss Matty could not speak, she was trembling 


90 


CRANFORD 


SO nervously; so I said what I really felt; and after a 
call of some duration — all the time of which I have no 
doubt Miss Pole thought Miss Matty received the news 
very calmly — our visitor took her leave. Miss Matty 
made a strong effort to conceal her feelings — a conceal- 
ment she practiced even with me, for she has never 
alluded to Mr. Holbrook again, although the book he 
gave her lies with her Bible on the little table by her 
bedside; she did not think I heard her when she asked 
the little milliner of Cranford to make her caps some- 
thing like the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson’s, or that I 
noticed the reply: 

^^But she wears widows’ caps, ma’am?” 

^^Oh! I only meant something in that style; not 
widows’, of course, but rather like Mrs. Jamieson’s.” 

This effort at concealment was the beginning of the 
tremulous motion of head and hands which I have seen 
ever since in Miss Matty. 

The evening of the day on which we heard of Mr. 
Holbrook’s death. Miss Matilda was very silent and 
thoughtful; after prayers she called Martha back, and 
then she stood uncertain what to say. 

Martha!” she said at last; “you are young;” and 
then she made so long a pause, that Martha, to remind 
her of her half-finished sentence, dropped a curtsy, and 
said : 

“Yes, please, ma’am; two-and-twenty last third of 
October, please, ma’am.” 

“And perhaps, Martha, you may some time meet 
with a young man you like, and who likes you. I did 


A VISIT TO AN OLD BACHELOR 


91 


say you were not to have followers; but if you meet with 
such a young man, and tell me, and I find he is respect- 
able, I have no objection to his coming to see you once 
a week. God forbid!’’ said she, in a low voice, ^Hhat 
I should grieve any young hearts.” She spoke as if she 
were providing for some distant contingency, and was 
rather startled when Martha made her ready, eager 
answer: 

'^Please, ma’am, there’s Jem Hearn, and he’s a 
joiner, making three and sixpence a day, and six foot 
one in his stocking-feet, please, ma’am; and if you’ll ask 
about him to-morrow morning, every one will give him 
a character for steadiness; and he’ll be glad enough to 
come to-morrow night. I’ll be bound.” 

Though Miss Matty was startled, she submitted to 
Fate and Love. 


CHAPTER V 


OLD LETTERS 

I HAVE often noticed that almost every one has his 
own individual small economies — careful habits of 
saving fractions of pennies in some one peculiar direc- 
tion — any disturbance of which annoys him more than 
spending shillings or pounds on some real extravagance. 
An old gentleman of my acquaintance, who took the 
intelligence of the failure of a joint-stock bank, in which 
some of his money was invested, with stoical mildness, 
worried his family all through a long summer’s day be- 
cause one of them had torn (instead of cutting) out the 
written leaves of his now useless bank-book; of course, 
the corresponding pages at the other end came out as 
well; and this little unnecessary waste of paper (his 
private economy) chafed him more than all the loss of 
his money. Envelopes fretted his soul terribly when 
they first came in; the only way in which he could 
reconcile himself to such waste of his cherished article 
was by patiently turning inside out all that ■were sent 
to him, and so making them serve again. Even now, 
though tamed by age, I see him casting wistful glances 
at his daughters when they send a whole instead of a 
half sheet of note-paper, with the three lines of accept- 
ance to an invitation written on only one of the sides. 

92 


OLD LETTERS 


93 


I am not above owning that I have this human weak- 
ness myself. String is my foible. My pockets get full 
of little hanks of it, picked up and twisted together, 
ready for uses that never come. I am seriously annoyed 
if any one cuts the string of a parcel, instead of patiently 
and faithfully undoing it fold by fold. How people can 
bring themselves to use India-rubber rings, which are a 
sort of deification of string, as lightly as they do, I 
cannot imagine. To me an India-rubber ring is a 
precious treasure. I have one which is not new; one 
that I picked up off the fioor nearly six years ago. I 
have really tried to use it, but my heart failed me, and 
I could not commit the extravagance. 

Small pieces of butter grieve others. They cannot 
attend to conversation, because of the annoyance 
occasioned by the habit which some people have of 
invariably taking more butter than they want. Have 
you not seen the anxious look (almost mesmeric) which 
such persons fix on the article? They would feel it a 
relief if they might bury it out of their sight, by popping 
it into their own mouths, and swallowing it down; and 
they are really made happy if the person on whose 
plate it lies unused suddenly breaks off a piece of toast 
(which he does not want at all) and eats up his butter. 
They think that this is not waste. 

Now Miss Matty Jenkyns was chary of candles. We 
had many devices to use as few as possible. In the 
winter afternoons she would sit knitting for two or three 
hours; she could do this in the dark, or by fire-light; 
and when I asked if I might not ring for candles to 


94 


CRANFORD 


finish stitching my wristbands, she told me to ^^keep 
blind man^s holiday/^ They were usually brought in 
with tea; but we only burned one at a time. As we 
lived in constant preparation for a friend who might 
come in any evening (but who never did), it required 
some contrivance to keep our two candles of the same 
length, ready to be lighted, and to look as if we burned 
two always. The candles took it in turns; and, what- 
ever we might be talking about or doing. Miss Matty^s 
eyes were habitually fixed upon the candle, ready to 
jump up and extinguish it, and to light the other before 
they had become too uneven in length to be restored 
to equality in the course of the evening. 

One night, I remember that this candle economy par- 
ticularly annoyed me. I had been very much tired of 
my compulsory blind man’s holiday,” especially as 
Miss Matty had fallen asleep, and I did not like to stir 
the fire, and run the risk of awakening her; so I could 
not even sit on the rug, and scorch myself with sewing 
by fire-light, according to my usual custom. I fancied 
Miss Matty must be dreaming of her early life; for she 
spoke one or two words, in her uneasy sleep, bearing 
reference to persons who were dead long before. When 
Martha brought in the lighted candle and tea. Miss 
Matty started into wakefulness, with a strange, be- 
wildered look around, as if we were not the people she 
expected to see about her. There was a little sad ex- 
pression that shadowed her face as she recognized me; 
but immediately afterward she tried to give me her 
usual smile. All through tea-time, her talk ran upon 


OLD LETTERS 


95 


the days of her childhood and youth. Perhaps this 
reminded her of the desirableness of looking over all 
the old family letters, and destroying such as ought not 
to be allowed to fall into the hands of strangers; for she 
had often spoken of the necessity of this task, but had 
always shrunk from it, with a timid dread of something 
painful. To-night, however, she rose up after tea, and 
went for them — in the dark, for she piqued herself on 
the precise neatness of all her chamber arrangements 
and used to look uneasily at me when I lighted a bed- 
candle to go to another room for anything. When she 
returned, there was a faint, pleasant smell of Tonquin 
beans in the room. I had always noticed this scent 
about any of the things which had belonged to her 
mother; and many of the letters were addressed to her — 
yellow bundles of love-letters, sixty or seventy years 
old. 

Miss Matty undid the packet with a sigh; but she 
stifled it directly, as if it were hardly right to regret the 
flight of time, or of life either. We agreed to look them 
over separately, each taking a different letter out of the 
same bundle, and describing its contents to the other, 
before destroying it. I never knew what sad work the 
reading of old letters was before that evening, though I 
could hardly tell why. The letters were as happy as 
letters could be — at least those early letters were. 
There was in them a vivid and intense sense of the 
present time, which seemed so strong and full, as if it 
could never pass away, and as if the warm, living hearts 
that so expressed themselves could never die, and be as 


96 


CRANFORD 


nothing to the sunny earth. I should have felt less 
melancholy, I believe, if the letters had been more so. 
I saw the tears stealing down the well-worn furrows of 
Miss Matty^s cheeks, and her spectacles often wanted 
wiping. I trusted at last that she would light the other 
candle, for my own eyes were rather dim, and I wanted 
more light to see the pale, faded ink; but no — even 
through her tears, she saw and remembered her little 
economical ways. 

The earliest set of letters were two bundles tied to- 
gether, and ticketed (in Miss Jenkyns^s handwriting): 

Letters interchanged between my ever honored father 
and my dearly beloved mother prior to their marriage in 
July, 1774.^^ I should guess that the rector of Cranford 
was about twenty-seven years of age when he wrote 
those letters; and Miss Matty told me that her mother 
was just eighteen at the time of her wedding. With my 
idea of the rector, derived from a picture in the dining- 
parlor, stiff and stately, in a huge full-bottomed wig, 
with gown, cassock, and bands, and his hand upon a 
copy of the only sermon he ever published — it was 
strange to read these letters. They were full of eager, 
passionate ardor; short homely sentences, right fresh 
from the heart (very different from the grand Latinized, 
Johnsonian style of the printed sermon, preached before 
some judge at assize ^ time). His letters were a curious 
contrast to those of his girl-bride. She was evidently 
rather annoyed at his demands upon her for expres- 
sions of love, and could not quite understand what he 
meant by repeating the same thing over in so many 


OLD LETTERS 


97 


different ways ; but what she was quite clear about was 
her longing for a white “Paduasoy’^^ — whatever that 
might be; and six or seven letters were principally 
occupied in asking her lover to use his influence with 
her parents (who evidently kept her in good order) to 
obtain this or that article of dress, more especially the 
white ^^Paduasoy/' He cared nothing how she was 
dressed; she was always lovely enough for him, as he 
took pains to assure her, when she begged him to ex- 
press in his answers a predilection for particular pieces 
of finery, in order that she might show what he said to 
her parents. But at length he seemed to find out that 
she would not be married till she had a trousseau to her 
mind; and then he sent her a letter, which had evidently 
accompanied a whole box full of finery, and in which he 
requested that she might be dressed in everything her 
heart desired. This was the first letter, ticketed in a 
frail, delicate hand, '^From my dearest John.’’ Shortly 
afterwards they were married — I suppose from the in- 
termission in their correspondence. 

^^We must burn them, I think,” said Miss Matty, 
looking doubtfully at me. ^^No one will care for them 
when I am gone.” And one by one she dropped them 
into the middle of the fire; watching each blaze up, die 
out, and rise away, in faint, white, ghostly semblance, 
up the chimney, before she gave up another to the same 
fate. The room was light enough now; but I, like her, 
was fascinated into watching the destruction of those 
letters into which the honest warmth of a manly heart 
had been poured forth. 


98 


CRANFORD 


The next letter, likewise docketed by Miss Jenkyns, 
was endorsed: Letter of pious congratulation and ex- 
hortation from my venerable grandfather to my beloved 
mother, on occasion of my own birth. Also some prac- 
tical remarks on the desirability of keeping warm the 
extremities of infants, from my excellent grandmother.’^ 

The first part was, indeed, a severe and forcible pic- 
ture of the responsibilities of mothers, and a warning 
against the evils that were in the world, and lying in 
ghastly wait for the little baby of two days old. His 
wife did not write, said the old gentleman, because he 
had forbidden it, she being indisposed with a sprained 
ankle, which (he said) quite incapacitated her from 
holding a pen. However, at the foot of the page was a 
small ^^T.o.,” and on turning it over, sure enough, there 
was a letter to ^^My dear, dearest Molly,” begging 
her, when she left her room, whatever she did, go up 
stairs before going down; and telling her to wrap her 
baby’s feet up in flannel, and keep it warm by the fire, 
although it was summer, for babies were so tender. 

It was pretty to see from the letters, which were evi- 
dently exchanged with some frequency, between the 
young mother and the grandmother, how the girlish 
vanity was being weeded out of her heart by love for her 
baby. The white ^^Paduasoy” figured again in the 
letters, with almost as much vigor as before. In one, 
it was being made into a christening cloak for the baby. 
It decked it when it went with its parents to spend a 
day or two at Arley Hall. It added to its charms when 
it was ‘Hhe prettiest little baby that ever was seen. 


OLD LETTERS 


99 


Dear mother, I wish you could see her! Without any 
parshality, I do think she will grow up a regular bewty 1 
I thought of Miss Jenkyns, gray, withered, and wrin- 
kled; and I wondered if her mother had known her in 
the courts of heaven; and then I knew that she had, 
and that they stood there in angelic guise. 

There was a great gap before any of the rector’s letters 
appeared. And then his wife had changed her mode of 
endorsement. It was no longer from “My dearest 
John;” it was from “My Honored Husband.” The 
letters were written on occasion of the publication of 
the same sermon which was represented in the picture. 
The preaching before “My Lord Judge,” and the 
“publishing by request,” was evidently the culminating 
point — the event of his life. It had been necessary for 
him to go up to London to superintend it through the 
press. Many friends had to be called upon, and con- 
sulted, before he could decide on any printer fit for so 
onerous a task; and at length it was arranged that J. 
and J. Rivingtons were to have the honorable respon- 
sibility. The worthy rector seemed to be strung up by 
the occasion to a high literary pitch, for he could hardly 
write a letter to his wife without cropping out into 
Latin. I remember the end of one of his letters ran 
thus: “I shall ever hold the virtuous qualities of my 
Molly in remembrance, dum memor ^ ipse mei, dum 
spiritus regit artus” which, considering that the English 
of his correspondent was sometimes at fault in grammar, 
and often in spelling, might be taken as a proof of how 
much he “idealized” his Molly; and, as Miss Jenkyns 


100 


CRANFORD 


used to say: People talk a great deal about idealizing 
nowadays, whatever that may mean.’’ But this was 
nothing to a fit of writing classical poetry, which soon 
seized him; in which his Molly figured away as Maria.” 
The letter containing the carmen ^ was endorsed by her: 

Hebrew verses sent me by my honored husband. 
I thowt to have had a letter about killing the pig, but 
must wait. Mem., to send the poetry to Sir Peter 
Arley, as my husband desires.” And in a post-script um 
note in his handwriting, it was stated that the Ode had 
appeared in The Gentleman^ s Magazine, December, 1782. 

Her letters back to her husband (treasured as fondly 
by him as if they had been M, T. Ciceronis Epistolce 
were more satisfactory to an absent husband and father 
than his could ever have been to her. She told him how 
Deborah sewed her seam very neatly every day; and 
read to her in the books he had set her; how she was a 
very ^Torrard,” good child, but would ask questions her 
mother could not answer; but how she did not let her- 
self down by saying she did not know, but took to 
stirring the fire, or sending the ^Torrard” child on an 
errand. Matty was now the mother’s darling, and 
promised (like her sister at her age) to be a great beauty. 

I was reading this aloud to Miss Matty, who smiled 
and sighed a little at the hope, so fondly expressed, 
that little Matty might not be vain, even if she were a 
bewty.” 

had very pretty hair, my dear,” said Miss Matilda, 
^^and not a bad mouth.” And I saw her soon afterward 
adjust her cap and draw herself up. 


OLD LETTERS 


101 


But to return to Mrs. Jenkyns’s letters. She told her 
husband about the poor in the parish; what homely 
domestic medicines she had administered; what kitchen 
physic she had sent. She had evidently held his dis- 
pleasure as a rod in pickle over the heads of all the 
ne’er-do-wells. She asked for his directions about the 
cows and pigs; and did not always obtain them, as I 
have shown before. 

The kind old grandmother was dead, when a little boy 
was born, soon after the publication of the sermon; but 
there was another letter of exhortation from the grand- 
father, more stringent and admonitory than ever, now 
that there was a boy to be guarded from the snares of the 
world. He described all the various sins into which men 
might fall, until I wondered how any man ever came to 
a natural death. The gallows seemed as if it must have 
been the termination of the lives of most of the grand- 
father’s friends and acquaintance; and I was not sur- 
prised at the way in which he spoke of this life being 
^'a vale of tears.” 

It seemed curious that I should never have heard of 
this brother before; but I concluded that he had died 
young; or else surely his name would have been alluded 
to by his sisters. 

By and by we game to packets of Miss Jenkyns’s let- 
ters. These Miss Matty did regret to burn. She said 
all the others had been only interesting to those who 
loved the writers; and that it seemed as if it would have 
hurt her to allow them to fall into the hands of strangers, 
who had not known her dear mother, and how good she 


102 


CRANFORD 


was, although she did not always spell quite in the 
modern fashion; but Deborah^s letters were so very 
superior! Any one might profit by reading them. It 
was a long time since she had read Mrs. Chapone,^ but 
she knew she used to think that Deborah could have 
said the same things quite as well; and as for Mrs. 
Carter! ^ people thought a deal of her letters, just be- 
cause she had written Epictetus, but she was quite sure 
Deborah would never have made use of such a common 
expression as canna be fashed!’’ ^ 

Miss Matty did grudge burning these letters, it was 
evident. She would not let them be carelessly passed 
over with any quiet reading, and skipping, to myself. 
She took them from me, and even lighted the second 
candle in order to read them aloud with a proper 
emphasis, and without stumbling over the big words. 
Oh dear; how I wanted facts instead of reflections, be- 
fore those letters were concluded! They lasted us two 
nights; and I won’t deny that I made use of the time 
to think of many other things, and yet I was always at 
my post at the end of each sentence. 

The rector’s letters, and those of his wife and mother- 
in-law, had all been tolerably short and pithy, written 
in a straight hand, with the lines very close together. 
Sometimes the whole letter was contained on a mere 
scrap of paper. The paper was very yellow, and the 
ink very brown; some of the sheets were (as Miss Matty 
made me observe) the old original post, with the stamp 
in the corner, representing a post-boy riding for life 
and twanging his horn. The letters of Mrs. J enkyns and 


OLD LETTERS 


103 


her mother were fastened with a great round red wafer; 
for it was before Miss Edgeworth^s^ Patronage had 
banished wafers from polite society. It was evident 
from the tenor of what was said, that franks^ were in 
great request, and were even used as a means of paying 
debts by needy members of Parliament. The rector 
sealed his epistles with an immense coat-of-arms, and 
showed, by the care with which he had performed this 
ceremony, that he expected they should be cut open, 
not broken by any thoughtless or impatient hand. Now, 
Miss Jenkyns’s letters were of a later date in form and 
writing. She wrote on the square sheet, which we have 
learned to call old-fashioned. Her hand was admirably 
calculated, together with her use of many-syllabled 
words, to fill up a sheet, and then came the pride and- 
delight of crossing. Poor Miss Matty got sadly puzzled 
with this, for the words gathered size like snowballs, 
and towards the end of her letter Miss Jenkyns used to 
become quite sesquipedalian. In one to her father, 
slightly theological and controversial in its tone, she had 
spoken of Herod, Tetrarch of Idumea. Miss Matty 
read it Herod, Petrarch of Etrurise,’^ and was just as 
well pleased as if she had been right. 

I can’t quite remember the date, but I think it was in 
1805 that Miss Jenkyns wrote the longest series of 
letters, on occasion of her absence on a visit to some 
friends near Newcastle-upon-Tyne. These friends 
were intimate with the commandant of the garrison 
there, and heard from him of all the preparations that 
were being made to repel the invasion of Bonaparte,^ 


104 


CRANFORD 


which some people imagined might take place at the 
mouth of the Tyne. Miss Jenkyns was evidently very 
much alarmed; and the first part of her letters was 
often written in pretty intelligible English, conveying 
particulars of the preparations which were made in the 
family with whom she was residing against the dreaded 
event; the bundles of clothes that were packed up ready 
for a flight to Alston Moor (a wild, hilly piece of ground 
between Northumberland and Cumberland); the signal 
that was to be given for this flight, and for the simul- 
taneous turning out of the volunteers under arms, 
which said signal was to consist (if I remember rightly) 
in ringing the church bells in a particular and ominous 
manner. One day, when Miss Jenkyns and her hosts 
were at a dinner-party in Newcastle, this warning sum- 
mons was actually given (not a very wise proceeding, 
if there be any truth in the moral attached to the 
fable of The Boy and the Wolf; but so it was), and Miss 
Jenkyns, hardly recovered from her fright, wrote the 
next day to describe the sound, the breathless shock, 
the hurry and alarm; and then, taking breath, she 
added: ^^How trivial, my dear father, do all our appre- 
hensions of the last evening appear, at the present 
moment, to calm and inquiring minds! And here Miss 
Matty broke in with: ^^But, indeed, my dear, they were 
not at all trivial or trifling at the time. I know I used 
tc wake up in the night many a time and think I heard 
the tramp of the French entering Cranford. Many 
people talked of hiding themselves in the salt mines; 
and meat would have kept capitally down there, only 


OLD LETTERS 


105 


perhaps we should have been thirsty. And my father 
preached a whole set of sermons on the occasion; one set 
in the mornings, all about David and Goliath, to spirit 
up the people to fighting with spades or bricks, if need 
were; and the other set in the afternoons, proving that 
Napoleon (that was another name for Bony, as we used 
to call him) was all the same as an Apollyon and 
Abaddon h I remember, my father rather thought he 
should be asked to print this last set, but the parish had, 
perhaps, had enough of them with hearing.^' 

Peter Marmaduke Arley Jenkyns (^^poor Peter! as 
Miss Matty began to call him) was at school at Shrews- 
bury ^ by this time. The rector took up his pen, and 
rubbed up his Latin once more, to correspond with his 
boy. It was very clear that the lad^s were what are 
called show letters. They were of a highly mental 
description, giving an account of his studies, and his 
intellectual hopes of various kinds, with an occasional 
quotation from the classics; but now and then the 
animal nature broke out in such a little sentence as 
this, evidently written in a trembling hurry, after the 
letter had been inspected: Mother, dear, do send me a 
cake, and put plenty of citron in.^’ The ‘^Mother, 
dear,’^ probably answered her boy in the form of cakes 
and goody,’’ for there were none of her letters among 
this set; but a whole collection of the rector’s, to whom 
the Latin in his boy’s letters was like a trumpet to the 
old war-horse. I do not know much about Latin, 
certainly, and it is, perhaps, an ornamental language, 
but not very useful, I think — at least to judge from the 


106 


CRANFORD 


bits I remember out of the rector^s letters. One was: 
^^You have not got that town in your map of Ireland; 
but Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia as the Proverbia 
ssiyP Presently it became very evident that ^^poor 
Peter got himself into many scrapes. There were 
letters of stilted penitence to his father, for some wrong- 
doing; and among them all was a badly written, badly 
sealed, badly directed, blotted note: “My dear, dear, 
dear, dearest mother, I will be a better boy — I will, 
indeed; but donT, please, be ill for me, I am not worth 
it; but I will be good, darling mother.’^ 

Miss Matty could not speak for crying, after she had 
read this note. She gave it to me in silence, and then 
got up and took it to her sacred recesses in her own 
room, for fear, by any chance, it might get burned. 
“Poor Peter!” she said, “he was always in scrapes; he 
was too easy. They led him wrong, and then left him 
in the lurch. But he was too fond of mischief. He 
could never resist a joke. Poor Peter!” 


CHAPTER VI 


POOR PETER 

Poor Peter^s career lay before him rather pleasantly 
mapped out by kind friends, but Bonus Bernardus non 
videt omnia, in this map too. He was to win honors at 
Shrewsbury school, and carry them thick to Cambridge, 
and after that a living ^ awaited him, the gift of his god- 
father, Sir Peter Arley. Poor Peter! his lot in life was 
very different to what his friends had hoped and 
planned. Miss Matty told me all about it, and I 
think it was a relief to her when she had done so. 

He was the darling of his mother, who seemed to dote 
on all her children, though she was, perhaps, a little 
afraid of Deborah’s superior acquirements. Deborah 
was the favorite of her father, and when Peter dis- 
appointed him, she became his pride. The sole honor 
Peter brought away from Shrewsbury was the reputa- 
tion of being the best good fellow that ever was, and of 
being the captain of the school in the art of practical 
joking. His father was disappointed, but set about 
remedying the matter in a manly way. He could not 
afford to send Peter to read with any tutor, but he 
could read with him himself ; and Miss Matty told me 
much of the awful preparations in the way of diction- 
aries and lexicons that were made in her father’s study 
the morning Peter began. 

107 


108 


CRANFORD 


My poor mother! said she. I remember how she 
used to stand in the hall, just near enough to the study 
door to catch the tone of my father’s voice. I could tell 
in a moment if all was going right, by her face. And 
it did go right for a long time.” 

‘^What went wrong at last?” said I. ^^That tiresome 
Latin, I dare say.” 

^^No! it was not the Latin. Peter was in high favor 
with my father, for he worked up well for him. But he 
seemed to think that the Cranford people might be 
joked about, and made fun of, and they did not like it^ 
nobody does. He was always hoaxing them; ^hoaxing 
is not a pretty word, my dear, and I hope you won’t 
tell your father I used it, for I should not like him to 
think that I was not choice in my language, after 
living with such a woman as Deborah. And be sure 
you never use it yourself. I don’t know how it slipped 
out of my mouth, except it was that I was thinking of 
poor Peter, and it was always his expression. But he 
was a very gentlemanly boy in many things. He was 
like dear Captain Brown in always being ready to help 
any old person or a child; still, he did like joking and 
making fun; and he seemed to think the old ladies in 
Cranford would believe anything. There were many 
old ladies living here then; we are principally ladies now, 
I know; but we are not so old as the ladies used to be 
when I was a girl. I could laugh to think of some of 
Peter’s jokes. No! my dear, I won’t tell you of them, 
because they might not shock you as they ought to 
do; and they were very shocking. He even took in my 


POOR PETER 


109 


father once, by dressing himself up as a lady that was 
passing through the town and wished to see the Rector 
of Cranford, ^who had published that admirable Assize 
Sermon/ Peter said he was awfully frightened himself 
when he saw how my father took it all in, and even 
offered to copy out all his Napoleon Bonaparte sermons 
for her — him, I mean — ^no, her, for Peter was a lady 
then. He told me he was more terrified than he ever 
was before, all the time my father was speaking. He 
did not think my father would have believed him; and 
yet, if he had not, it would have been a sad thing for 
Peter. As it was, he was none so glad of it, for my father 
kept him hard at work copying out all those twelve 
Bonaparte sermons for the lady — that was for Peter 
himself, you know; he was the lady. And once, when 
he wanted to go fishing, Peter said, 'Confound the 
woman!’ — ^very bad language, my dear; but Peter was 
not always so guarded as he should have been; my father 
was so angry with him it nearly frightened me out of my 
wits; and yet I could hardly keep from laughing at the 
little curtsies Peter kept making, quite slyly, whenever 
my father spoke of the lady’s excellent taste and sound 
discrimination.” 

"Did Miss Jenkyns know of these tricks?” said I. 

"Oh, no! Deborah would have been too much 
shocked. No! no one knew but me. I wish I had 
always known of Peter’s plans; but sometimes he did not 
tell me. He used to say the old ladies in the town 
wanted something to talk about; but I don’t think they 
did. They had the St. Jameses Chronicle ^ three times a 


no 


CRANFORD 


week, just as we have now, and we have plenty to say; 
and I remember the clacking noise there always was 
when some of the ladies got together. But, probably, 
schoolboys talk more than ladies. At last there was a 
terrible sad thing happened.’^ Miss Matty got up, and 
went to the door, and opened it; no one was there. 
She rang the bell for Martha; and when Martha came, 
her mistress told her to go for eggs to a farm at the 
other end of the town. 

I will lock the door after you, Martha. You are not 
afraid to go, are you?’^ 

^^No, ma^am, not at all; Jem Hearn will be only too 
proud to go with me.’^ 

Miss Matty drew herself up, and, as soon as we were 
alone, she wished that Martha had more maidenly 
reserve. 

We’ll put out the candle, my dear. We can talk just 
as well by fire-light, you know. There! well! you see, 
Deborah had gone from home for a fortnight or so; it 
was a very still, quiet day, I remember, overhead, and 
the lilacs were all in fiower, so I suppose it was spring. 
My father had gone out to see some sick people in the 
parish; I recollect seeing him leave the house, with his 
wig, and shovel-hat, and cane. What possessed our 
poor Peter I don’t know; he had the sweetest temper, 
and yet he always seemed to like to plague Deborah. 
She never laughed at his jokes, and thought him un- 
genteel, and not careful enough about improving his 
mind; and that vexed him. 

‘^Well! he went to her room, it seems, and dressed 


POOR PETER 


111 


himself in her old gown, and shawl, and bonnet; just the 
things she used to wear in Cranford, and was known by 
everywhere; and he made the pillow into a little — ^you 
are sure you locked the door, my dear, for I should not 
like any one to hear — into — into — a little baby, with 
white long clothes. It was only, as he told me after- 
ward, to make something to talk about in the town; he 
never thought of it as affecting Deborah. And he went 
and walked up and down in the Filbert walk — ^just half 
hidden by the rails, and half seen; and he cuddled his 
pillow, just like a baby; and talked to it all the nonsense 
people do. 0 dear! and my father came stepping 
stately up the street, as he always did; and what should 
he see but a little black crowd of people — I dare say as 
many as twenty — all peeping through his garden rails. 
So he thought, at first, they were only looking at a new 
rhododendron that was in full bloom, and that he was 
very proud of; and he walked slower, that they might 
have more time to admire. And he wondered if he could 
make out a sermon from the occasion, and thought, 
perhaps, there was some relation between the rho- 
dodendrons and the lilies of the field. My poor father! 
When he came nearer, he began to wonder that they 
did not see him; but their heads were all so close to- 
gether, peeping and peeping. My father was among 
them, meaning, he said, to ask them to walk into the 
garden with him, and admire the beautiful vegetable 
production, when, — oh, my dear! I tremble to think of 
it — he looked through the rails himself, and saw — I 
don’t know what he thought he saw, but old Clare told 


112 


CRANFORD 


me his face went quite gray-white with anger, and his 
eyes blazed out under his frowning black brows; and 
he spoke out — oh, so terribly! — and bade them all stop 
where they were — not one of them to go, not one to stir 
a step; and, swift as light, he was in at the garden door, 
and down the Filbert walk, and seized hold of poor 
Peter, and tore his clothes off his back — ^bonnet, shawl, 
gown, and all — and threw the pillow among the people 
over the railings; and then he was very, very angry in- 
deed; and before all the people he lifted up his cane, and 
flogged Peter! 

^^My dear! that boy^s trick, on that sunny day, when 
all seemed going straight and well, broke my mother^s 
heart, and changed my father for life. It did, indeed. 
Old Clare said Peter looked as white as my father; and 
stood as still as a statue to be flogged; and my father 
struck hard! When my father stopped to take breath, 
Peter said: 'Have you done enough, sir?’ quite hoarsely, 
and still standing quite quiet. I don’t know what my 
father said, or if he said anything. But old Clare said 
Peter turned to where the people outside were, and 
made them a low bow, as grand and as grave as any 
gentleman, and then walked slowly into the house. I 
was in the storeroom, helping my mother to make 
cowslip-wine. I cannot abide the wine now, nor the 
scent of the flowers; they turn me sick and faint, as 
they did that day, when Peter came in, looking as 
haughty as any man — indeed, looking like a man, not 
like a boy. 'Mother!’ he said, 'I am come to say God 
bless you forever.’ I saw his lips quiver as he spoke; 


POOR PETER 


113 


and I think he durst not say anything more loving, for 
the purpose that was in his heart. She looked at him 
rather frightened and wondering, and asked him what 
was to do. He did not smile or speak, but put his arms 
round her, and kissed her as if he did not know how to 
leave off; and before she could speak again he was gone. 
We talked it over, and could not understand it, and she 
bade me go and seek my father, and ask what it was all 
about. I found him walking up and down, looking very 
highly displeased. 

^Tell your mother I have flogged Peter, and that he 
richly deserved it.^ 

durst not ask any more questions. When I told 
my mother, she sat down, quite faint, for a minute. 
I remember, a few days after, I saw the poor, withered 
cowslip-flowers thrown out to the leaf-heap, to decay 
and die there. There was no making of cowslip-wine 
that year at the rectory — nor, indeed, ever after. 

Presently my mother went to my father. I know I 
thought of Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus; ^ for my 
mother was very pretty and delicate looking, and my 
father looked as terrible as King Ahasuerus. Some time 
after, they came out together, and then my mother told 
me what had happened, and that she was going up to 
Peter^s room, at my father’s desire — though she was not 
to tell Peter this — to talk the matter over with him. 
But no P^ter was there. We looked over the house; no 
Peter was there! Even my father, who had not liked 
to join in the search at first, helped us before long. The 
rectory was a very old house; steps up into a room, steps 


114 


CRANFORD 


down into a room, all through. At first, my mother 
went calling low and soft — as if to reassure the poor 
boy — ^ Peter! Peter, dear! iPs only me;’ but, by and by 
as the servants came back from the errands my father 
had sent them, in different directions, to find where 
Peter was — as we found he was not in the garden, nor 
the hayloft, nor anywhere about — my mother’s cry 
grew louder and wilder — ^ Peter! Peter, my darling! 
where are you?’ for then she felt and understood that 
that long kiss meant some sad kind of ^good-by.’ The 
afternoon went on — ^my mother never resting, but seek- 
ing again and again in every possible place that had been 
looked into twenty times before ;nay, that she had looked 
into over and over again herself. My father sat with 
his head in his hands, not speaking, except when his 
messengers came in, bringing no tidings; then he lifted 
up his face so strong and sad, and told them to go again 
in some new direction. My mother kept passing from 
room to room, in and out of the house, moving noise- 
lessly, but never ceasing. Neither she nor my father 
durst leave the house, which was the meeting place for 
all the messengers. At last (and it was nearly dark), my 
father rose up. He took hold of my mother’s arm, as 
she came with wild, sad face, through one door, and 
quickly toward another. She started at the touch of 
his hand, for she had forgotten all in the world but Peter. 

‘ Molly! ’ said he, ^ I did not think all this would hap- 
pen.’ He looked into her face for comfort — her poor 
face, all wild and white; for neither she nor my father 
had dared to acknowledge — much less act upon — the 


POOR PETER 


115 


terror that was in their hearts, lest Peter should have 
made away with himself. My father saw no conscious 
look in his wife’s hot, dreary eyes, and he missed the 
sympathy that she had always been ready to give him — 
strong man as he was; and at the dumb despair in her 
face, his tears began to flow. But when she saw this, a 
gentle sorrow came over her countenance, and she said, 
^Dearest John! don’t cry; come with me, and we’ll And 
him,’ almost as cheerfully as if she knew where he was. 
And she took my father’s great hand in her little soft 
one, and led him along, the tears dropping, as he 
walked on that same imceasing, weary walk, from room 
to room, through house and garden. 

^^Oh! how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for 
crying, for now all seemed to depend on me. I wrote 
for Deborah to come home. I sent a message privately 
to that same Mr. Holbrook’s house — poor Mr. Hol- 
brook! — you know who I mean. I don’t mean I sent 
a message to him, but I sent one that I could trust, to 
know if Peter was at his house. Por at one time Mr. 
Holbrook was an occasional visitor at the rectory, — 
you know he was Miss Pole’s cousin, — and he had been 
very kind to Peter, and taught him how to fish — he was 
very kind to everybody, and I thought Peter might 
have gone off there. But Mr. Holbrook was from home, 
and Peter had never been seen. It was night now; but 
the doors were all wide open, and my father and mother 
walked on and on; it was more than an hour since he 
had joined her, and I don’t believe they had ever spoken 
all that time. I was getting the parlor fire lighted, and 


116 


CRANFORD 


one of the servants was preparing tea, for I wanted 
them to have something to eat and drink and warm 
them, when old Clare asked to speak to me. 

have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss 
Matty. Shall we drag the ponds to-night, or wait for 
the morning?’^ 

I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; 
and when I did, I laughed out loud. The horror of that 
new thought — our bright, darling Peter, cold, and stark, 
and dead! I remember the ring of my own laugh now. 

“The next day Deborah was at home before I was 
myself again. She would not have been so weak to 
give way as I had done; but my screams (my horrible 
laughter had ended in crying) had roused my sweet 
dear mother, whose poor wandering wits were called 
back and collected, as soon as a child needed her care. 
She and Deborah sat by my bedside; I knew by the 
looks of each that there had been no news of Peter— 
no awful, ghastly news, which was what I most had 
dreaded in my dull state between sleeping and waking. 

“The same result of all the searching had brought 
something of the same relief to my mother, to whom 
I am sure the thought that Peter might even then be 
hanging dead in some of the familiar home-places had 
caused that never-ending walk of yesterday. Her soft 
eyes never were the same again after that; they had 
always a restless craving look, as if seeking for what 
they could not find. Oh! it was an awful time; coming 
down like a thunder-bolt on the still, sunny day, when 
the lilacs were all in bloom.^^ 


POOR PETER 


117 


''Where was Mr. Peter? said I. 

"He had made his way to Liverpool; and there was 
war then; axid some of the king^s ships lay off the mouth 
of the Mersey; and they were only too glad to have a 
fine likely boy such as him (five foot nine he was) come 
to offer himself. The captain wrote to my father, and 
Peter wrote to my mother. Stay! those letters will be 
somewhere here.^^ 

We lighted the candle, and found the captain^s letter, 
and Peter^s too. And we also found a little simple 
begging letter from Mrs. Jenkyns to Peter, addressed 
to him at the house of an old school-fellow, whither she 
fancied he might have gone. They had returned it 
unopened; and unopened it had remained ever since, 
having been inadvertently put by among the other 
letters of that time. This is it: 

"My Dearest Peter: You did not think we should 
be so sorry as we are, I know, or you would never have 
gone away. You are too good. Your father sits and 
sighs till my heart aches to hear him. He cannot hold 
up his head for grief; and yet he only did what he 
thought was right. Perhaps he has been too severe, and 
perhaps I have not been kind enough; but God knows 
how we love you, my dear only boy. Don looks so sorry 
you are gone. Come back, and make us happy, who 
love you so much. I know you will come back.” 

But Peter did not come back. That spring day was 
the last time he ever saw his mother’s face. The writer 


118 


CRANFORD 


of the letter — the last — the only person who had evet 
seen what was written in it, was dead long ago; and I, a 
stranger, not born at the time when this occurrence took 
place, was the one to open it. 

The captain’s letter summoned the father and mother 
to Liverpool instantly, if they wished to see their boy; 
and by some of the wild chances of life, the captain’s 
letter had been detained somewhere, somehow. 

Miss Matty went on: ^^And it was race-time and all 
the post-horses at Cranford were gone to the races; but 
my father and mother set off in our own gig — and oh! 
my dear, they were too late — the ship was gone! And 
now, read Peter’s letter to my mother!” 

It was full of love, and sorrow, and pride in his new 
profession, and a sore sense of his disgrace in the eyes of 
the people at Cranford; but ending with a passionate en- 
treaty that she would come and see him before he left 
the Mersey: Mother! we may go into battle. I hope 
we shall, and lick those French; but I must see you 
again before that time.” 

“And she was too late,” said Miss Matty; “too 
late!” 

We sat in silence, pondering on the full meaning of 
those sad, sad words. At length I asked Miss Matty to 
tell me how her mother bore it. 

^^Oh!” she said, “she was patience itself. She had 
never been strong, and this weakened her terribly. My 
father used to sit looking at her, far more sad than she 
was. He seemed as if he could look at nothing else when 
she was by; and he was so humble — so very gentle now. 


POOR PETER 


119 


He would, perhaps, speak in his old way — laying down 
the law, as it were — and then, in a minute or two, he 
would come round and put his hand on our shoulders, 
and ask us, in a low voice, if he had said anything to 
hurt us. I did not wonder at his speaking so to Deborah 
for she was so clever; but I could not bear to hear him 
talking so to me. 

'^But, you see, he saw what we did not — that it was 
killing my mother. Yes, killing her — (put out the can- 
dle, my dear; I can talk better in the dark) — for she was 
but a frail woman, and ill fitted to stand the fright and 
shock she had gone through; and she would smile at him 
and comfort him, not in words, but in her looks and 
tones, which were always cheerful when he was there. 
And she would speak of how she thought Peter stood a 
good chance of being admiral very soon — he was so 
brave and clever; and how she thought of seeing him in 
his navy uniform, and what sort of hats admirals wore; 
and how much more fit he was to be a sailor than a 
clergyman; and all in that way, just to make my father 
think she was quite glad of what came of that unlucky 
morning^s work, and the hogging which was always in 
his mind, as we all knew. But oh, my dear! the bitter, 
bitter crying she had when she was alone; and at last, 
as she grew weaker, she could not keep her tears in, 
when Deborah or me was by, and would give us message 
after message for Peter — (his ship had gone to the 
Mediterranean, or somewhere down there, and then he 
was ordered off to India, and there was no overland 
route then) ; but she still said that no one knew where 


120 


CRANFORD 


their death lay in wait, and that we were not to think 
hers was near. We did not think it, but we knew it, as 
we saw her fading away. 

^^Well, my dear, it’s very foolish of me, I know, 
when in all likelihood I am so near seeing her again. 

And only think, love! the very day after her death — 
for she did not live quite a twelvemonth after Peter 
went away — the very day after — came a parcel for her 
from India — from her poor boy. It was a large, soft, 
white India shawl, with just a little narrow border all 
round; just what my mother would have liked. 

^^We thought it might rouse my father, for he had 
sat with her hand in his all night long; so Deborah took 
it in to him, and Peter’s letter to her, and all. At first 
he took no notice; and we tried to make a kind of light, 
careless talk about the shawl, opening it out and 
admiring it. Then, suddenly, he got up and spoke: 
^She shall be buried in it,’ he said; ^ Peter shall have that 
comfort; and she would have liked it.’ 

Well! perhaps it was not reasonable, but what could 
we do or say? One gives people in grief their o^vn way. 
He took it up and felt it; ^It is just such a shawl as she 
wished for when she was married, and her mother did 
not give it her. I did not know of it till after, or she 
should have had it — she should; but she shall have it 
now.’ 

^^My mother looked so lovely in her death! She was 
always pretty, and now she looked fair, and waxen, and 
young — ^younger than Deborah, as she stood trembling 
and shivering by her. We decked her in the long, soft 


POOR PETER 


121 


folds; she lay, smiling, as if pleased; and people came — 
all Cranford came — to beg to see her, for they had loved 
her dearly — as well they might; and the country-women 
brought posies; old Clare’s wife brought some white 
violets, and begged they might lie on her breast. 

“Deborah said to me the day of my mother’s funeral, 
that if she had a hundred offers, she never would marry 
and leave my father. It was not very likely she would 
have so many — I don’t know that she had one; but it 
was not less to her credit to say so. She was such a 
daughter to my father, as I think there never was be- 
fore, or since. His eyes failed him, and she read book 
after book, and wrote, and copied, and was always at 
his service in any parish business. She could do many 
more things than my poor mother could; she even once 
wrote a letter to the bishop for my father. But he 
missed my mother sorely; the whole parish noticed it. 
Not that he was less active; I think he was more so, 
and more patient in helping every one. I did all I 
could to set Deborah at liberty to be with him; for I 
knew I was good for little, and that my best work in 
the world was to do odd jobs quietly, and set others at 
liberty. But my father was a changed man.” 

“Did Mr. Peter ever come home?” 

“Yes, once. He came home a lieutenant; he did not 
get to be admiral. And he and my father were such 
friends! My father took him into every house in the 
parish, he was so proud of him. He never walked out 
without Peter’s arm to lean upon. Deborah used to 
smile (I don’t think we ever laughed again after my 


122 


CRANFORD 


mother^s death), and say she was quite put in a corner. 
Not but what my father always wanted her when there 
was letter writing, or reading to be done, or anything to 
be settled.’^ 

'^And then?’^ said I, after a pause. 

^^Then Peter went to sea again; and, by and by, my 
father died, blessing us both, and thanking Deborah for 
all she had been to him; and, of course, our circum- 
stances were changed; and, instead of living at the 
rectory, and keeping three maids and a man, we had to 
come to this small house, and be content with a servant- 
of-all-work; but, as Deborah used to say, we have 
always lived genteelly, even if circumstances have com- 
pelled us to simplicity. Poor Deborah!’’ 

^^And Mr. Peter?” asked I. 

^^Oh, there was some great war jn India — I forget 
what they call it — and we have never heard of Peter 
since then. I believe he is dead myself; and it some- 
times fidgets me that we have never put on mourning 
for him. And then, again, when I sit by myself, and 
all the house is still, I think I hear his step coming up 
the street, and my heart begins to flutter and beat; but 
the sound always goes past — and Peter never comes. 

‘^That’s Martha back? No! Fll go, my dear; I can 
always find my way in the dark, you know. And a blow 
of fresh air at the door will do my head good, and it’s 
rather got a trick of aching.” 

So she pattered off. I had lighted the candle, to give 
the room a cheerful appearance against her return. 

^^Was it Martha?” asked I. 


POOR PETER 


123 


^'Yes. And I am rather uncomfortable, for I heard 
such a strange noise, just as I was opening the door/' 
Where?'' I asked, for her eyes were round with 
affright. 

^^In the street — just outside — it sounded like — " 
“Talking?" I put in, as she hesitated a little. 

“No! kissing — " 


CHAPTER VII 


VISITING 

One morning, as Miss Matty and I sat at our work — ■ 
it was before twelve o’clock, and Miss Matty had not 
yet changed the cap with yellow ribbons, that had been 
Miss Jenkyns’s best, and which Miss Matty was now 
wearing out in private, putting on the one made in 
imitation of Mrs. Jamieson’s at all times when she 
expected to be seen — Martha came up and asked if 
Miss Betty Barker might speak to her mistress. Miss 
Matty assented, and quickly disappeared to change the 
yellow ribbons, while Miss Barker came up-stairs; but, 
as she had forgotten her spectacles, and was rather 
flurried by the unusual time of the visit, I was not 
surprised to see her return with one cap on the top of 
the other. She was quite unconscious of it herself, and 
looked at us with bland satisfaction. Nor do I think 
Miss Barker perceived it, for, putting aside the little 
circumstance that she was not so yoimg as she had been, 
she was very much absorbed in her errand, which she 
delivered herself of with an oppressive modesty that 
found vent in endless apologies. 

Miss Betty Barker was the daughter of the old clerk 
at Cranford, who had officiated in Mr. Jenkyns’s time. 
She and her sister had had pretty good situations as 
124 


VISITING 


125 


lady^s-maids, and had saved up money enough to set 
up a milliner^s shop, which had been patronized by the 
ladies in the neighborhood. Lady Arley, for instance, 
would occasionally give Miss Barkers the pattern of an 
old cap of hers, which they immediately copied and cir- 
culated among the elite ^ of Cranford. I say the elite, for 
Miss Barkers had caught the trick of the place, and 
piqued themselves upon their ^^aristocratic connection.’’ 
They would not sell their caps and ribbons to any one 
without a pedigree. Many a farmer’s wife or daughter 
turned away huffed from Miss Barkers’ select millinery, 
and went rather to the universal shop, where the profits 
of brown soap and moist sugar enabled the proprietor 
to go straight to (Paris, he said, until he found his cus- 
tomers too patriotic and John Bullish to wear what the 
Mounseers wore) London; where, as he often told his 
customers. Queen Adelaide had appeared, only the very 
week before, in a cap exactly like the one he showed 
them, trimmed with yellow and blue ribbons, and had 
been complimented by King William on the becoming 
nature of her head-dress. 

Miss Barkers, who confined themselves to truth, and 
did not approve of miscellaneous customers, throve not- 
withstanding. They were self-denying, good people. 
Many a time have I seen the eldest of them (she that 
had been maid to Mrs. Jamieson) carrying out some 
delicate mess to a poor person. They only aped their 
betters in having “nothing to do” with the class im- 
mediately below theirs. And when Miss Barker died, 
their profits and income were found to be such that Miss 


126 


CRANFORD 


Betty was justified in shutting up shop and retiring from 
business. She also (as I think I have before said) set up 
her cow; a mark of respectability in Cranford, almost as 
decided as setting up a gig is among some people. She 
dressed finer than any lady in Cranford; and we did not 
wonder at it; for it was understood that she was wearing 
out all the bonnets and caps and outrageous ribbons, 
which had once formed her stock in trade. It was five 
or six years since she had given up shop; so in any other 
place than Cranford her dress might have been con- 
sidered passee. 

And now Miss Betty Barker had called to invite Miss 
Matty to tea at her house on the following Tuesday. 
She gave me also an impromptu invitation, as I hap- 
pened to be a visitor; though I could see she had a little 
fear lest, since my father had gone to live in Drumble, 
he might have engaged in that “horrid cotton trade,’^ 
and so dragged his family down out of “aristocratic 
society.^’ She prefaced this invitation with so many 
apologies, that she quite excited my curiosity. “Her 
presumption’’ was to be excused. What had she been 
doing? She seemed so overpowered by it, I could only 
think that she had been writing to Queen Adelaide, to 
ask for a receipt for washing lace; but the act which 
she so characterized was only an invitation she had 
carried to her sister’s former mistress, Mrs. Jamieson. 
“Her former occupation considered, could Miss Matty 
excuse the liberty?” Ah! thought I, she has found out 
that double cap, and is going to rectify Miss Matty’s 
head-dress. No! it was simply to extend her invitation 


VISITING 


127 


to Miss Matty and to me. Miss Matty bowed accept- 
ance; and I wondered that, in the graceful action, she 
did not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary 
height of her head-dress. But I do not think she did; 
for she recovered her balance, and went on talking to 
Miss Betty in a kind, condescending manner, very 
different from the fidgety way she would have had, if 
she had suspected how singular her appearance was. 

“Mrs. Jamieson is coming, I think you said?’’ asked 
Miss Matty. 

“Yes. Mrs. Jamieson most kindly and condescend- 
ingly said she would be happy to come. One little 
stipulation she made, that she should bring Carlo. I 
told her that if I had a weakness, it was for dogs.” 

“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was 
thinking of her pool at Preference, in which Carlo would 
not be available as a partner. 

“I am going to ask Miss Pole. Of course, I could not 
think of asking her until I had asked you, madam — the 
rector’s daughter, madam. Believe me, I do not forget 
the situation my father held under yours.” 

“And Mrs. Forrester, of course?” 

“And Mrs. Forrester. I thought, in fact, of going to 
her before I went to Miss Pole. Although her circum- 
stances are changed, madam, she was born a Tyrrell, 
and we can never forget her alliance to the Bigges, of 
Bigelow Hall.” 

Miss Matty cared much more for the little circum- 
stance of her being a very good card player. 

“Mrs. Fitz-Adam — I suppose — ” 


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madam. I must draw a line somewhere. Mrs. 
Jamieson would not, I think, like to meet Mrs. Fitz- 
Adam. I have the greatest respect for Mrs. Fitz-Adam 
— but I cannot think her fit society for such ladies as 
Mrs. Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns.’^ 

Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and 
pursed up her mouth. She looked at me with sidelong 
dignity, as much as to say, although a retired milliner, 
she was no democrat, and understood the difference of 
ranks. 

“May I beg you to come as near half-past six, to my 
little dwelling, as possible. Miss Matilda? Mrs. Jamie- 
son dines at five, but has kindly promised not to delay 
her visit beyond that time — half-past six.’^ And with a 
swimming curtsy Miss Betty Barker took her leave. 

My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon 
from Miss Pole, who usually came to call on Miss 
Matilda after any event — or indeed in sight of any 
event — to talk it over with her. 

“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select 
few,’^ said Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared 
notes. 

^^Yes, so she said. Not even Mrs. Fitz-Adam.’^ 

Now Mrs. Fitz-Adam was the widowed sister of the 
Cranford surgeon, whom I have named before. Their 
parents were respectable farmers, content with their 
station. The name of these good people was Hoggins. 
Mr. Hoggins was the Cranford doctor now; we disliked 
the name, and considered it coarse; but, as Miss Jen- 
kyns said, if he changed it to Piggins it would not be 


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129 


much better. We had hoped to discover a relationship 
between him and that Marchioness of Exeter whose 
name was Molly Hoggins; but the man, careless of his 
own interests, utterly ignored and denied any such 
relationship; although, as dear Miss Jenkyns had said, 
he had a sister called Mary, and the same Christian 
names were very apt to run in families. 

Soon after Miss Mary Hoggins married Mr. Fitz- 
Adam, she disappeared from the neighborhood for many 
years. She did not move in a sphere in Cranford society 
sufficiently high to make any of us care to know what 
Mr. Fitz-Adam was. He died and was gathered to his 
fathers, without our ever having thought about him at 
all. And then Mrs. Fitz-Adam reappeared in Cranford, 
“as bold as a lion,’’ Miss Pole said, a well-to-do widow, 
dressed in rustling black silk, so soon after her husband’s 
death that poor Miss Jenkyns was justified in the re- 
mark she made, that “bombazine^ would have shown a 
deeper sense of her loss.” 

I remember the convocation of ladies, who assembled 
to decide whether or not Mrs. Fitz-Adam should be 
called upon by the old blue-blooded inhabitants of 
Cranford. She had taken a large rambling house, 
which had been usually considered to confer a patent of 
gentility upon its tenant; because, once upon a time, 
seventy or eighty years before, the spinster daughter of 
an earl had resided in it. I am not sure if the inhabiting 
this house was not also believed to convey some unusual 
power of intellect; for the earl’s daughter. Lady Jane, 
had a sister. Lady Anne, who had married a general 


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officer/ in the time of the American war; and this gen- 
eral officer had written one or two comedies, which were 
still acted on the London boards; and which, when we 
saw them advertised, made us all draw up, and feel that 
Drury Lane ^ was paying a very pretty compliment to 
Cranford. Still, it was not at all a settled thing that 
Mrs. Fitz-Adam was to be visited, when dear Miss 
Jenk3ms died; and, with her, something of the clear 
knowledge of the strict code of gentility went out too. 
As Miss Pole observed, ‘^As most of the ladies of good 
family in Cranford were elderly spinsters, or widows 
without children, if we did not relax a little, and become 
less exclusive, by and by we should have no society 
at all.^’ 

Mrs. Forrester continued on the same side. 

‘^She had always understood that Fitz meant some- 
thing aristocratic; there was Fitz-Roy — she thought 
that some of the king^s children had been called Fitz- 
Roy; and there was Fitz-Clarence now — they were the 
children of dear, good King William the Fourth. Fitz- 
Adam — it was a pretty name; and she thought it very 
probably meant ^ Child of Adam.’ No one who had not 
some good blood in their veins would dare to be called 
Fitz; there was a deal in a name — she had had a cousin 
who spelt his name with two little ^’s — ffoulkes; and he 
always looked down upon capital letters, and said they 
belonged to lately-invented families. She had been 
afraid he would die a bachelor, he was so very choice. 
When he met with a Mrs.ffaringdon, at a watering-place, 
he took to her immediately; and a very pretty, genteel 


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131 


woman she was — a widow with a very good fortune; 
and ^my cousin/ Mr. ffoulkes, married her; and it was 
all owing to her two little 

Mrs. Fitz-Adam did not stand a chance of meeting 
with a Mr. Fitz-anything in Cranford, so that could not 
have been her motive for settling there. Miss Matty 
thought it might have been the hope of being admitted 
in the society of the place, which would certainly be a 
very agreeable rise for ci-devant ^ Miss Hoggins; and if 
this had been her hope, it would be cruel to disappoint 
her. 

So everybody called upon Mrs. Fitz-Adam — every- 
body but Mrs. Jamieson, who used to show how honor- 
able she was by never seeing Mrs. Fitz-Adam, when they 
met at the Cranford parties. There would be only eight 
or ten ladies in the room, and Mrs. Fitz-Adam was the 
largest of all, and she invariably used to stand up when 
Mrs. Jamieson came in, and curtsy very low to her 
whenever she turned in her direction — so low, in fact, 
that I think Mrs. Jamieson must have looked at the 
wall above her, for she never moved a muscle of her 
face, no more than if she had not seen her. Still Mrs. 
Fitz-Adam persevered. 

The spring evenings were getting bright and long, 
when three or four ladies in calashes met at Miss 
Barker’s door. Do you know what a calash is? It is a 
covering worn over caps, not unlike the heads fastened 
on old-fashioned gigs; but sometimes it is not quite so 
large. This kind of head-gear always made an awful 
impression on the children in Cranford; and now two or 


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CRANFORD 


three left off their play in the quiet, sunny little street, 
and gathered, in wondering silence, round Miss Pole, 
Miss Matty, and myself. We were silent, too, so that 
we could hear loud, suppressed whispers, inside Miss 
Barker^s house. “Wait, Peggy! wait till IVe run up- 
stairs, and washed my hands. When I cough, open the 
door; I’ll not be a minute.” 

And, true enough, it was not a minute before we 
heard a noise, between a sneeze and a crow; on which the 
door flew open. Behind it stood a round-eyed maiden, 
all aghast at the honorable company of calashes, who 
marched in without a word. She recovered presence of 
mind enough to usher us into a small room, which had 
been the shop, but was now converted into a temporary 
dressing-room. There we unpinned and shook ourselves 
and arranged our features before the glass into a sweet 
and gracious company-face; and then, bowing back- 
wards with “After you, ma’am,” we allowed Mrs. 
Forrester to take precedence up the narrow staircase 
that led to Miss Barker’s drawing-room. There she 
sat, as stately and composed as though we had never 
heard that odd-sounding cough, from which her throat 
must have been even then sore and rough. Kind, gentle, 
shabbily-dressed Mrs. Forrester was immediately con- 
ducted to the second place of honor — a seat arranged 
something like Prince Albert’s, near the queen’s — good, 
but not so good. The place of preeminence was, of 
Course, reserved for the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson, who 
presently came panting up the stairs — Carlo rushing 
round her on her progress, as if he meant to trip her up. 


VISITING 


133 


And now, Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy 
woman! She stirred the fire, and shut the door, and sat 
as near to it as she could, quite on the edge of her chair. 
When Peggy came in, tottering under the weight of the 
tea-tray, I noticed that Miss Barker was sadly afraid 
lest Peggy should not keep her distance sufficiently. 
She and her mistress were on very familiar terms in 
their everyday intercourse, and Peggy wanted now to 
make several little confidences to her, which Miss 
Barker was on thorns to hear; but which she thought 
it her duty, as a lady, to repress. So she turned away 
from all Peggy^s asides and signs; but she made one or 
two very maUapropos ^ answers to what was said; and 
at last, seized with a bright idea, she exclaimed, ^^Poor 
sweet Carlo! I’m forgetting him. Come down-stairs 
with me, poor ittie doggie, and it shall have its tea, 
it shall.” 

In a few minutes she returned, bland and benignant 
as before; but I thought she had forgotten to give the 
“poor ittie doggie” anything to eat, judging by the 
avidity with which he swallowed down chance pieces of 
cake. The tea-tray was abundantly loaded. I was 
pleased to see it, I was so hungry; but I was afraid the 
ladies present might think it vulgarly heaped up. I 
know they would have done at their own houses; but 
somehow the heaps disappeared here. I saw Mrs. 
Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly and considerately, 
as she did everything; and I was rather surprised, for 
I knew she had told us, on the occasion of her last party, 
that she never had it in her house, it reminded her so 


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CRANFORD 


much of scented soap. She always gave us Savoy 
biscuits. However, Mrs. Jamieson was kindly indul- 
gent to Miss Barker^s want of knowledge of the customs 
of high life; and, to spare her feelings, ate three large 
pieces of seed-cake, with a placid, ruminating expression 
of countenance, not unlike a cow^s. 

After tea there was some little demur and difficulty. 
We were six in number; four could play at Preference, 
and for the other two there was Cribbage. But all, 
except myself (I was rather afraid of the Cranford 
ladies at cards, for it was the most earnest and serious 
business they ever engaged in), were anxious to be of 
the ^^pool.’^ Even Miss Barker, while declaring she 
did not know Spadille from Manille, was evidently 
hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was soon put 
an end to by a singular kind of noise. If a baron^s 
daughter-in-law could ever be supposed to snore, I 
should have said Mrs. Jamieson did so then; for, over- 
come by the heat of the room, and inclined to doze 
by nature, the temptation of that very comfortable 
armchair had been too much for her, and Mrs. Jamieson 
was nodding. Once or twice she opened her eyes with 
an effort, and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us; 
but, by-and-by, even her benevolence was not equal 
to this exertion, and she was sound asleep. 

“It is very gratifying to me,’’ whispered Miss Barker, 
at the card-table, to her three opponents, whom, not- 
withstanding her ignorance of the game, she was 
“basting” most unmercifully, “very gratifying indeed, 
to see how completely Mrs. Jamieson feels at home 


VISITING 


135 


in my poor little dwelling; she could not have paid me a 
greater compliment/^ 

Miss Barker provided me with some literature, in the 
shape of three or four handsomely bound fashion-books 
ten or twelve years old, observing, as she put a little 
table and a candle for my especial benefit, that she 
knew young people liked to look at pictures. Carlo 
lay and snorted, and started, at his mistresses feet. He, 
too, was quite at home. 

The card-table was an animated scene to watch; four 
ladies’ heads, with niddle-noddling caps, all nearly 
meeting over the middle of the table, in their eagerness 
to whisper quick enough and loud enough; and every 
now and then came Miss Barker’s ^‘Hush, ladies! if you 
please, hush! Mrs. Jamieson is asleep.” 

It was very difficult to steer clear between Mrs. For- 
rester’s deafness and Mrs. Jamieson’s sleepiness. But 
Miss Barker managed her arduous task well. She re- 
peated the whisper to Mrs. Forrester, distorting her face 
considerably, in order to show, by the motions of her 
lips, what was said, and then she smiled kindly all 
round at us, and murmured to herself, Very gratifying, 
indeed; I wish my poor sister had been alive to see 
this day.” 

Presently the door was thrown wide open; Carlo 
started to his feet, with a loud snapping bark, and Mrs. 
Jamieson awoke; or, perhaps, she had not been asleep — 
as she said almost directly, the room had been so light 
she had been glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been 
listening with great interest to all our amusing and 


136 


CRANFORD 


agreeable conversation. Peggy came in once more, red 
with importance. Another trayj ‘^Oh, gentility!’^ 
thought I, “can you endure this last shock! For Miss 
Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not, prepared, al- 
though she did say, “Why! Peggy, what have you 
brought us?’’ and looked pleasantly surprised at the 
unexpected pleasure) all sorts of good things for sup- 
per — scalloped oysters, potted lobsters, jelly, a dish 
called “little Cupids” (which was in great favor with 
the Cranford ladies; although too expensive to be given, 
except on solemn and state occasions — macaroons 
sopped in brandy, I should have called it, if I had not 
known its more refined and classical name). In short, 
we were evidently to be feasted with all that was sweet- 
est and best; and we thought it best to submit grace- 
fully, even at the cost of our gentility — ^which never ate 
suppers in general, but which, like most non-supper- 
eaters, was particularly hungry on all special occasions. 

Miss Barker, in her former sphere, had, I dare say, 
been made acquainted with the beverage they call 
cherry-brandy. We none of us had ever seen such a 
thing, and rather shrunk back when she proffered it 
us — “Just a little, leetle glass, ladies; after the oysters 
and lobsters, you know. Shell-fish are sometimes 
thought not very wholesome.” We all shook our heads 
like female mandarins; but at last Mrs. Jamieson 
suffered herself to be persuaded, and we followed her 
lead. It was not exactly unpalatable, though so hot 
and so strong that we thought ourselves bound to give 
evidence that we were not accustomed to such things, 


VISITING 


137 


by coughing terribly — almost as strangely as Miss 
Barker had done, before we were admitted by Peggy. 

^^IPs very strong, said Miss Pole, as she put down 
her empty glass; do believe there^s spirit in it.^' 

“Only a little drop — ^just necessary to make it keep!’^ 
said Miss Barker. “You know we put brandy-paper 
over preserves to make them keep. I often feel tipsy 
myself from eating damson tart.'^ 

I question whether damson tart would have opened 
Mrs. Jamieson^s heart as the cherry-brandy did; but she 
told us of a coming event, respecting which she had been 
quite silent till that moment. 

^^My sister-in-law. Lady Glenmire, is coming to stay 
with me.’’ 

There was a chorus of “Indeed!” and then a pause. 
Each one rapidly reviewed her wardrobe, as to its fitness 
to appear in the presence of a baron’s widow; for, of 
course, a series of small festivals were always held in 
Cranford on the arrival of a visitor at any of our 
friends’ houses. We felt very pleasantly excited on the 
present occasion. 

Not long after this the maids and the lanterns were 
announced. Mrs. Jamieson had the sedan chair, which 
had squeezed itself into Miss Barker’s narrow lobby 
with some difficulty, and most literally stopped the 
way.” It required some skillful maneuvering on the 
part of the old chairmen (shoemakers by day; but, when 
summoned to carry the sedan, dressed up in a strange 
old livery — long great-coats, with small capes, coeval 
with the sedan, and similar to the dress of the class in 


138 


CRANFORD 


Hogarth’s pictures^) to edge, and back, and try at it 
again, and finally to succeed in carrying their burden 
out of Miss Barker’s front door. Then we heard their 
quick pitapat along the quiet little street, as we put on 
our calashes, and pinned up our gowns; Miss Barker 
hovering about us with offers of help; which, if she had 
not remembered her former occupation, and wished 
us to forget it, would have been much more pressing. 


CHAPTER VIII 


^‘your ladyship^’ 

Early the next morning — directly after twelve — 
Miss Pole made her appearance at Miss Matty’s. Some 
very trifling piece of business was alleged as a reason 
for the call; but there was evidently something behind. 
At last out it came. 

'^By the way, you’ll think I’m strangely ignorant; 
but, do you really know, I am puzzled how we ought to 
address Lady Glenmire. Do you say, ^your ladyship,’ 
where you would say ^you’ to a common person? I 
have been puzzling all morning; and are we to say 
‘my lady,’ instead of ‘ma’am’? Now, you knew Lady 
Arley — ^will you tell me the correct way of speaking 
to the Peerage?” 

Poor Miss Matty! she took off her spectacles and she 
put them on again — but how Lady Arley was addressed 
she could not remember. 

“It is so long ago!” she said. “Dear! dear! how 
stupid I am! I don’t think I ever saw her more than 
twice. I know we used to call Sir Peter, ‘Sir Peter,’ 
but he came much oftener to see us than Lady Arley 
did. Deborah would have known in a minute. ‘My 
lady — ^your ladyship.’ It sounds very strange and as 
if it was not natural. I never thought of it before; but, 
now you have named it, I am all in a puzzle.” 

139 


140 


CRANFORD 


It was very certain Miss Pole would obtain no wise 
decision from Miss Matty, who got more bewildered 
every moment, and more perplexed as to etiquettes of 
address. 

^^Well, I really think,’’ said Miss Pole, had better 
just go and tell Mrs. Forrester about our little difficulty. 
One sometimes grows nervous; and yet one would not 
have Lady Glenmire think we were quite ignorant of the 
etiquettes of high life in Cranford.” 

^'And will you just step in here, dear Miss Pole, as 
you come back, please; and tell me what you decide 
upon? Whatever you and Mrs. Forrester fix upon will 
be quite right, I’m sure. ^Lady Arley,’ ‘Sir Peter,’” 
said Miss Matty to herself, trying to recall the old 
forms of words. 

“Who is Lady Glenmire?” asked I. 

“Oh, she’s the widow of Mr. Jamieson — that’s Mrs. 
Jamieson’s late husband, you know — ^widow of his 
eldest brother. Mrs. Jamieson was a Miss Walker, 
daughter of Governor Walker. ‘Your ladyship.’ My 
dear, if they fix on that way of speaking, you must let 
me practice a little on you first, for I shall feel so 
foolish and hot, saying it the first time to Lady Glen- 
mire.” 

It was really a relief to Miss Matty when Mrs. Jamie- 
son came on a very unpolite errand. I notice that ap- 
athetic people have more quiet impertinence than any 
others; and Mrs. Jamieson came now to insinuate pretty 
plainly, that she did not particularly wish that the Cran- 
ford ladies should call upon her sister-in-law. I can 


^^YOUR LADYSHIP'' 


141 


hardly say how she made this clear; for I grew very in- 
dignant and warm, while with slow deliberation she 
was explaining her wishes to Miss Matty, who, a true 
lady herself, could hardly understand the feeling which 
made Mrs. Jamieson wish to appear to her noble sister- 
in-law as if she only visited county’^ families.^ Miss 
Matty remained puzzled and perplexed long after I 
had found out the object of Mrs. Jamieson’s visit. 

When she did understand the drift of the honorable 
lady’s call, it was pretty to see with what quiet dignity 
she received the intimation thus uncourteously given. 
She was not in the least hurt — she was of too gentle a 
spirit for that; nor was she exactly conscious of dis- 
approving of Mrs. Jamieson’s conduct; but there was 
something of this feeling in her mind, I am sure, which 
made her pass from the subject to others, in a less 
flurried and more composed manner than usual. Mrs. 
Jamieson was, indeed, the more flurried of the two, and 
I could see she was glad to take her leave. 

A little while afterward. Miss Pole returned, red and 
indignant. Well! to be sure! You’ve had Mrs. Jamie- 
son here, I find from Martha; and we are not to call on 
Lady Glenmire. Yes! I met Mrs. Jamieson, half way 
between here and Mrs. Forrester’s, and she told me; 
she took me so by surprise, I had nothing to say. I 
wish I had thought of something very sharp and sar- 
castic; I dare say I shall to-night. And Lady Glenmire 
is but the widow of a Scotch baron, after all ! I went on 
to look at Mrs. Forrester’s Peerage to see who this 
lady was, that is to be kept under a glass case: widow 


142 


CRANFORD 


of a Scotch peer — ^never sat in the House of Lords — • 
and as poor as Job, I dare say; and she — fifth daughter 
of some Mr. Campbell or other. You are the daughter 
of a rector, at any rate, and related to the Arleys; and 
Sir Peter might have been Viscount Arley, every one 
says.’^ 

Miss Matty tried to soothe Miss Pole, but in vain. 
That lady, usually so kind and good-humored, was now 
in a full flow of anger. 

“And I went and ordered a cap this morning, to be 
quite ready,’’ said she, at last letting out the secret 
which gave sting to Mrs. Jamieson’s intimation. “ Mrs. 
Jamieson shall see if it’s so easy to get me to make 
fourth at a pool, when she has none of her fine Scotch 
relations with her!” 

In coming out of church, the first Sunday on which 
Lady Glenmire appeared in Cranford, we sedulously 
talked together, and turned our backs on Mrs. Jamieson 
and her guest. If we might not call on her, we would not 
even look at her, though we were dying with curiosity 
to know what she was like. We had the comfort of 
questioning Martha in the afternoon. Martha did not 
belong to a sphere of society whose observation could 
be an implied compliment to Lady Glenmire, and 
Martha had made good use of her eyes. 

“Well, ma’am! is it the little lady with Mrs. Jamie- 
son, you mean? I thought you would like more to know 
how young Mrs. Smith was dressed, her being a bride.” 
(Mrs. Smith was the butcher’s wife.) 

Miss Pole said, “Good gracious me! as if we cared 


*‘YOUR LADYSHIP^[ 


143 


about a Mrs. Smith; but was silent as Martha re- 
sumed her speech. 

‘^The little lady in Mrs. Jamieson’s pew had on, 
ma ’am, rather an old black silk, and a shepherd’s plaid 
cloak, ma’am, and very bright black eyes she had, 
ma’am, and a pleasant, sharp face; not over young, 
ma’am, but yet, I should guess, younger than Mrs. 
Jamieson herself. She looked up and down the church, 
like a bird, and nipped up her petticoats, when she came 
out, as quick and sharp as ever I see. I’ll tell you what, 
ma’am, she’s more like Mrs. Deacon, at the Coach and 
Horses, nor any one.” 

^^Hush, Martha!” said Miss Matty, ^Hhat’s not 
respectful.” 

Isn’t it, ma’am? I beg pardon, I’m sure; but Jem 
Hearn said so as well. He said she was just such a 
sharp, stirring sort of a body — ” 

^^Lady,” said Miss Pole. 

^^Lady — as Mrs. Deacon.” 

Another Sxmday passed away, and we still averted 
our eyes from Mrs. Jamieson and her guest, and made 
remarks to ourselves that we thought were very severe — 
almost too much so. Miss Matty was evidently uneasy 
at our sarcastic manner of speaking. 

Perhaps by this time Lady Glenmire had found out 
that Mrs. Jamieson’s was not the gayest, liveliest house 
in the world; perhaps Mrs. Jamieson had found out 
that most of the county families were in London, and 
that those who remained in the country were not so 
alive as they might have been to the circumstance of 


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CRANFORD 


Lady Glenmire being in their neighborhood. Great 
events spring out of small causes; so I will not pretend 
to say what induced Mrs. Jamieson to alter her deter- 
mination of excluding the Cranford ladies, and send 
notes of invitation all round for a small party, on the 
following Tuesday. Mr. Mulliner himself brought them 
round. He would always ignore the fact of there being , 
a back door to any house, and gave a louder rat-tat than 
his mistress, Mrs. Jamieson. He had three little notes, 
which he carried in a large basket, in order to impress 
his mistress with an idea of their great weight, though 
they might easily have gone into his waistcoat pocket. 

Miss Matty and I quietly decided we would have a 
previous engagement at home — ^it was the evening on 
which Miss Matty usually made candle-lighters of all 
the notes and letters of the week; for on Mondays her 
accounts were always made straight — ^not a penny 
owing from the week before; so, by a natural arrange- 
ment, making candle-lighters fell upon a Tuesday 
evening, and gave us a legitimate excuse for declining 
Mrs. Jamieson’s invitation. But before our answer 
was written, in came Miss Pole, with an open note in 
her hand. 

^^So!” she said. ^^Ah! I see you have got your note, 
too. Better late than never. I could have told my 
Lady Glenmire she would be glad enough of our society 
before a fortnight was over.” 

^^Yes,” said Miss Matty, we’re asked for Tuesday 
evening. And perhaps you would just kindly bring 
your work across and drink tea with us that night. It 


“ YOUR LADYSHIP^^ 


145 


is my usual regular time for looking over the last week^s 
bills, and notes, and letters, and making candle-lighters 
of them; but that does not seem quite reason enough 
for saying I have a previous engagement at home, 
though I meant to make it do. Now, if you would come, 
my conscience would be quite at ease, and luckily the 
note is not written yet.’’ 

I saw Miss Pole’s countenance change while Miss 
Matty was speaking. 

Don’t you mean to go, then?” asked she. 

^^Oh, no!” said Miss Matty, quietly. ^^You don’t 
either, I suppose?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Miss Pole. ^^Yes, I think I 
do,” said she, rather briskly; and on seeing Miss Matty 
look surprised, she added, “You see one would not like 
Mrs. Jamieson to think that anything she could do, or 
say, was of consequence enough to give offence; it 
would be a kind of letting down of ourselves, that I, for 
one, should not like. It would be too flattering to Mrs. 
Jamieson, if we allowed her to suppose that what she 
had said affected us a week, nay, ten days afterward.” 

“Well, I suppose it is wrong to be hurt and annoyed so 
long about anything; and, perhaps, after all, she did not 
mean to vex us. But, I must say, I could not have 
brought myself to say the things Mrs. Jamieson did 
about our not calling. I really don’t think I shall go.” 

“ Oh, come! Miss Matty, you must go; you know our 
friend Mrs. Jamieson is much more phlegmatic than 
most people, and does not enter into the little delicacies 
of feeling which you possess in so remarkable a degree.” 


146 


CRANFORD 


“I thought you possessed them, too, that day Mrs. 
Jamieson called to tell us not to go,’’ said Miss Matty, 
innocently. 

But Miss Pole, in addition to her delicacies of feeling, 
possessed a very smart cap, which she was anxious to 
show to an admiring world; and so she seemed to forget 
all her angry words uttered not a fortnight before, and 
to be ready to act on what she called the great Christian 
principle of Forgive and forget;” and she lectured 
dear Miss Matty so long on this head that she abso- 
lutely ended by assuring her it was her duty, as a de- 
ceased rector’s daughter, to buy a new cap, and go to 
the party at Mrs. Jamieson’s. So ^^we were most 
happy to accept,” instead of regretting that we were 
obliged to decline.” 

The expenditure on dress in Cranford was principally 
in that one article referred to. If the heads were buried 
in smart new caps, the ladies were like ostriches, and 
cared not what became of their bodies. Old gowns, 
white and venerable collars, any number of brooches, 
up and down, and everywhere (some with dogs’ eyes 
painted in them; some that were like small picture 
frames, with mausoleums and weeping-willows neatly 
executed in hair inside; some, again, with miniatures of 
ladies and gentlemen sweetly smiling out of a nest of 
stiff muslin) — old brooches for a permanent ornament 
and new caps to suit the fashion of the day; the 
ladies of Cranford always dressed with chaste ele- 
gance and propriety, as Miss Barker once prettily 
expressed it. 


YOUR LADYSHIP'^ 


147 


And with three new caps, and a greater array of 
brooches than had ever been seen together at one time 
since Cranford was a town, did Mrs. Forrester, and 
Miss Matty, and Miss Pole appear on that memorable 
Tuesday evening. I counted seven brooches myself 
on Miss Pole^s dress. Two were fixed negligently in 
her cap (one was a butterfiy made of Scotch pebbles, 
which a vivid imagination might believe to be the real 
insect) ; one fastened her net neckerchief; one her collar; 
one ornamented the front of her gown, midway be- 
tween her throat and waist; and another adorned the 
point of her stomacher. Where the seventh one was I 
have forgotten, but it was somewhere about her, I am 
sure. 

But I am getting on too fast, in describing the dresses 
of the company. I should first relate the gathering, on 
the way to Mrs. Jamieson’s. That lady lived in a 
large house just outside the town. A road, which had 
known what it was to be street, ran right before the 
house, which opened out upon it, without any inter- 
vening garden or court. Whatever the sun was about, 
he never shone on the front of that house. To be sure, 
the living-rooms were at the back, looking on to a 
pleasant garden; the front windows only belonged to 
kitchens, and housekeepers’ rooms, and pantries; and 
in one of them Mr. Mulliner was reported to sit. In- 
deed, looking askance, we often saw the back of a head, 
covered with hair-powder, which also extended itself 
over his coat-collar down to his very waist; and this 
imposing back was always engaged in reading the 


148 


CRANFORD 


St. Jameses Chronicle, opened wide, which in some degree 
accounted for the length of time the said newspaper 
was in reaching us — equal subscribers with Mrs. 
Jamieson, though, in right of her honorableness, she 
always had the reading of it first. This very Tuesday, 
the delay in forwarding the last number had been 
particularly aggravating; just when both Miss Pole and 
Miss Matty, the former more especially, had been 
wanting to see it, in order to coach up the court-news, 
ready for the evening^s interview with aristocracy. 
Miss Pole told us she had absolutely taken time by the 
forelock, and been dressed by five o’clock, in order to 
be ready if the St. James’s Chronicle should come in at 
the last moment — the very St. James’s Chronicle which 
the powdered-head was tranquilly and composedly 
reading as we passed the accustomed window this 
evening. 

^^The impudence of the man!” said Miss Pole, in a 
low, indignant whisper. should like to ask him 
whether his mistress pays her quarter-share for his 
exclusive use.” 

We looked at her in admiration of the courage of her 
thought; for Mr. Mulliner was an object of great awe to 
all of us. He seemed never to have forgotten his con- 
descension in coming to live at Cranford. Miss Jen- 
kyns, at times, had stood forth as the undaunted 
champion of her sex, and spoken to him on terms of 
equality; but even Miss Jenkyns could get no higher. 
In his pleasantest and most gracious moods, he looked 
like a sulky cockatoo. He did not speak except in 


[^YOUR LADYSHIP^^ 


149 


gruff monosyllables. He would wait in the hall when 
we begged him not to wait, and then look deeply 
offended because we had kept him there, while, with 
trembling, hasty hands, we prepared ourselves for 
appearing in company. 

Miss Pole ventured on a small joke as we went up- 
stairs, intended, though addressed to us, to afford Mr. 
Mulliner some slight amusement. We all smiled, in 
order to seem as if we felt at our ease, and timidly 
looked for Mr. Mulliner^s sympathy. Not a muscle of 
that wooden face had relaxed; and we were grave in 
an instant. 

Mrs. Jamieson^s drawing-room was cheerful; the 
evening sun came streaming into it, and the large square 
window was clustered round with flowers. The fur- 
niture was white and gold; not of the later style, Louis 
Quatorze ^ I think they call it, all shells and twirls; no, 
Mrs. Jamieson’s chairs and tables had not a curve or 
bend about them. The chair and table legs diminished 
as they neared the ground, and were straight and square 
in all their corners. The chairs were all a-row against 
the walls, with the exception of four or five which stood 
in a circle round the fire. They were railed with white 
bars across the back, and knobbed with gold; neither 
the railings nor the knobs invited to ease. There was a 
japanned table devoted to literature, on which lay a 
Bible, a Peerage, and a Prayer-book. There was another 
square Pembroke ^ table dedicated to the fine arts, on 
which there was a kaleidoscope, conversation-cards, 
puzzle-cards (tied together to an interminable length of 


150 


CRANFORD 


faded pink satin ribbon), and a box painted in fond 
imitation of the drawings which decorate tea-chests. 
Carlo lay on the worsted-worked rug, and ungraciously 
barked at us as we entered. Mrs. Jamieson stood up, 
giving us each a torpid smile of welcome, and looking 
helplessly beyond us at Mr. Mulliner, as if she hoped he 
would place us in chairs, for if he did not, she never 
could. I suppose he thought we could find our way 
to the circle around the fire, which reminded me of 
Stonehenge,^ I don’t know why. Lady Glenmire came 
to the rescue of our hostess; and somehow or other we 
found ourselves for the first time placed agreeably, and 
not formally, in Mrs. Jamieson’s house. Lady Glen- 
mire, now we had time to look at her, proved to be a 
little woman of middle age, who had been very pretty 
in the days of her youth, and who was even yet very 
pleasant-looking. I saw Miss Pole appraising her 
dress in the first five minutes; and I take her word, 
when she said the next day: 

^^My dear! ten pounds would have purchased every 
stitch she had on — lace and all.” 

It was pleasant to suspect that a peeress could be 
poor, and partly reconciled us to the fact that her 
husband had never sat in the House of Lords; which, 
when we first heard of it, seemed a kind of swindling 
us out of our respect on false pretences; a sort of 
Lord and no Lord” ^ business. 

We were all very silent at first. We were thinking 
what we could talk about, that should be high enough 
to interest my lady. There had been a rise in the price 


^^YOUR LADYSHIP 


151 


of sugar, which, as preserving-time was near, was a 
piece of intelligence to all our housekeeping hearts, and 
would have been the natural topic if Lady Glenmire 
had not been by. But we were not sure if the Peerage 
ate preserves — ^much less knew how they were made. 
At last Miss Pole, who had always a great deal of cour- 
age and savoir fairej^ spoke to Lady Glenmire, who on 
her part had seemed just as much puzzled to know how 
to break the silence as we were. 

‘^Has your ladyship been to court lately?^’ asked she; 
and then gave a little glance round at us, half timid and 
half triumphant, as much as to say, ^^See how judi- 
ciously I have chosen a subject befitting the rank of 
the stranger!” 

never was there in my life,” said Lady Glenmire, 
with a broad Scotch accent, but in a very sweet voice. 
And then, as if she had been too abrupt, she added: 
‘^We very seldom went to London; only twice, in fact, 
during all my married life; and before I was married, 
my father had far too large a family” — (fifth daughter 
of Mr. Campbell, was in all our minds, I am sure) — 
take us often from our home, even to Edinburgh. 
Yedl have been in Edinburgh, may be?” said she, 
suddenly brightening up, with the hope of a common 
interest. We had none of us been there; but Miss Pole 
had an uncle who once had passed a night there, which 
was very pleasant. 

Mrs. Jamieson, meanwhile, was absorbed in wonder 
why Mr. Mulliner did not bring the tea; and, at length, 
the wonder oozed out of her mouth. 


152 


CRANFORD 


had better ring the bell, my dear, had not 
said Lady Glenmire, briskly. 

— I think not — Mulliner does not like to be 
hurried.^^ 

We should have liked our tea, for we dined at an 
earlier hour than Mrs. Jamieson. I suspect Mr. 
Mulliner had to finish the St, Jameses Chronicle before 
he chose to trouble himself about tea. His mistress 
fidgeted and fidgeted, and kept saying, can^t think 
why Mulliner does not bring tea. I can’t think what 
he can be about.” And Lady Glenmire at last grew 
quite impatient, but it was a pretty kind of impatience, 
after all; and she rung the bell rather sharply, on re- 
ceiving a half-permission from her sister-in-law to do so. 
Mr. Mulliner appeared in dignified surprise. ^^Oh!” 
said Mrs. Jamieson, '^Lady Glenmire rang the bell; I 
believe it was for tea.” 

In a few minutes tea was brought. Very delicate was 
the china, very old the plate, very thin the bread and 
butter, and very small the lumps of sugar. Sugar was 
evidently Mrs. Jamieson’s favorite economy. I ques- 
tion if the little filigree sugar-tongs, made something 
like scissors, could have opened themselves wide 
enough to seize an honest, vulgar, good-sized piece; 
and when I tried to seize two little minikin pieces at 
once, so as not to be detected in too many returns to 
the sugar basin, they absolutely dropped one, with a 
little sharp clatter, quite in a malicious and unnatural 
manner. But before this happened, we had had a slight 
disappointment. In the little silver jug was cream, in 


“ YOUR LADYSHIP^^ 


153 


the larger one was milk. As soon as Mr. Mulliner came 
in, Carlo began to beg, which was a thing our manners 
forbade us to do, though I am sure we were just as 
hungry; and Mrs. Jamieson said she was certain we 
would excuse her if she gave her poor dumb Carlo his 
tea first. She accordingly mixed a saucerful for him, 
and put it down for him to lap; and then she told us 
how intelligent and sensible the dear little fellow was; 
he knew cream quite well, and constantly refused tea 
with only milk in it, so the milk was left for us; but we 
silently thought we were quite as intelligent and sen- 
sible as Carlo, and felt as if insult were added to injury, 
when we were called upon to admire the gratitude 
evinced by his wagging his tail for the cream, which 
should have been ours. 

After tea we thawed down into common life sub- 
jects. We were thankful to Lady Glenmire for having 
proposed some more bread and butter, and this mu- 
tual want made us better acquainted with her than 
we should ever have been with talking about the 
court, though Miss Pole did say she had hoped to 
know how the dear queen was from some one who 
had seen her. 

The friendship, begun over bread and butter, ex- 
tended on to cards. Lady Glenmire played Preference 
to admiration and was a complete authority as to 
Ombre and Quadrille. Even Miss Pole quite forgot 
to say ^^my lady,^^ and ^^your ladyship,^^ and said, 
‘‘Basto! ma^am;’^ ^‘You have Spadille, I believe,’’ 
just as quietly as if we had never held the great Cran- 


154 


CRANFORD 


ford parliament on the subject of the proper mode of 
addressing a peeress. 

As a proof of how thoroughly we had forgotten that 
we were in the presence of one who might have sat 
down to tea with a coronet, instead of a cap, on her 
head, Mrs. Forrester related a curious little fact to 
Lady Glenmire — an anecdote known to the circle of 
her intimate friends, but of which even Mrs. Jamieson 
was not aware. It related to some fine old lace, the 
sole relic of better days, which Lady Glenmire was 
admiring on Mrs. Forrester^s collar. 

Yes,’^ said that lady, ^^such lace cannot be got now 
for either love or money; made by the nuns abroad, 
they tell me. They say that they canT make it now, 
even there. But perhaps they can now they Ve passed 
the Catholic Emancipation Bill.^ I should not wonder. 
But, in the meantime, I treasure up my lace very much. 
I darenT even trust the washing of it to my maid’^ 
(the little charity-school girl- 1 have named before, but 
who sounded well as ^^my maid’’). always wash it 
myself. And once it had a narrow escape. Of course, 
your ladyship knows that such lace must never be 
starched or ironed. Some people wash it in sugar and 
water; and some in coffee, to make it the right yellow 
color; but I myself have a very good receipt for washing 
it in milk, which stiffens it enough, and gives it a very 
good creamy color. Well, ma’am, I had tacked it 
together (and the beauty of this fine lace is, that when 
it is wet it goes into a very little space), and put it to 
soak in milk, when, unfortunately, I left the room; on 


t^YOUR LADYSHIP^ 


155 


my return, I found pussy on the table, looking very like 
a thief, but gulping very uncomfortably, as if she was 
half choked with something she wanted to swallow and 
could not. And, would you believe it? At first I pitied 
her, and said, ^Poor pussy! poor pussy!’ till, all at 
once, I looked and saw the cup of milk empty — cleaned 
out! ^You naughty cat!’ said I; and I believe I was 
provoked enough to give her a slap, which did no good, 
but only helped the lace down — ^just as one slaps a 
choking child on the back. I could have cried — I was 
so vexed; but I determined I would not give the lace 
up without a struggle for it. I hoped the lace might 
disagree with her, at any rate; but it would have been 
too much for Job, if he had seen, as I did, that cat come 
in, quite placid and purring, not a quarter of an hour 
after, and almost expecting to be stroked. ^ No, pussy! ’ 
said I; ^if you have any conscience, you ought not to 
expect that!’ And then a thought struck me; and I 
rang the bell for my maid, and sent her to Mr. Hoggins, 
with my compliments, and would he be kind enough to 
lend me one of his top-boots for an hour? I did not 
think there was anything odd in the message; but 
Jenny said the young men in the surgery laughed as if 
they would be ill, at my wanting a top-boot. When it 
came, Jenny and I put pussy in, with her fore-feet 
straight down, so that they were fastened, and could not 
scratch, and we gave her a teaspoonful of currant jelly, 
in which (your ladyship must excuse me) I had mixed 
some tartar emetic. I shall never forget how anxious 
I was for the next half hour. I took pussy to my own 


156 


CBANFORD 


room, and spread a clean towel on the floor. I could 
have kissed her when she returned the lace to sight, very 
much as it had gone down. Jenny had boiling water 
ready, and we soaked it and soaked it, and spread it on 
a lavender-bush in the sun, before I could touch it again, 
even to put it in milk. But now your ladyship would 
never guess that it had been in puss’s inside.” 

We found out, in the course of the evening, that Lady 
Glenmire was going to pay Mrs. Jamieson a long visit, 
as she had given up her apartments in Edinburgh, and 
had no ties to take her back there in a hurry. On the 
whole, we were rather glad to hear this, for she had made 
a pleasant impression upon us; and it was also very 
comfortable to find, from things which dropped out in 
the course of conversation, that, in addition to many 
other genteel qualities, she was far removed from the 
vulgarity of wealth. 

Don’t you find it very unpleasant, walking?” asked 
Mrs. Jamieson, as our respective servants were an- 
nounced. It was a pretty regular question from Mrs. 
Jamieson, who had her own carriage in the coach-house, 
and always went out in a sedan chair to the very shortest 
distances. The answers were nearly as much a matter 
of course. 

“Oh, dear, no! it is so pleasant and still at night!” 
“Such a refreshment after the excitement of a party!” 
“The stars are so beautiful!” This last was from Miss 
Matty. 

“Are you fond of astronomy?” Lady Glenmire asked. 

“Not very,” replied Miss Matty, rather confused at 


“ YOUR LADYSHIP 


157 


the moment to remember which was astronomy and 
which was astrology; but the answer was true under 
either circumstance, for she read, and was slightly 
alarmed at, Francis Moore’s ^ astrological predictions; 
and as to astronomy, in a private and confidential con- 
versation, she had told me she never could believe that 
the earth was moving constantly, and that she would 
not believe it if she could, it made her feel so tired and 
dizzy whenever she thought about it. 

In our pattens, we picked our way home with extra 
care that night, so refined and delicate were our per- 
ceptions after drinking tea with ^^my lady.” 


CHAPTER IX 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 

Soon after the events of which I gave an account in 
my last paper, I was summoned home by my father^s 
illness; and for a time I forgot, in anxiety about him, 
to wonder how my dear friends at Cranford were getting 
on, or how Lady Glenmire could reconcile herself to 
the dulness of the long visit which she was still paying 
to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Jamieson. When my father 
grew a little stronger I accompanied him to the seaside, 
so that altogether I seemed banished from Cranford, 
and was deprived of the opportunity of hearing any 
chance intelligence of the dear little town for the greater 
part of that year. 

Late in November — ^when we had returned home 
again, and my father was once more in good health — I 
received a letter from Miss Matty, and a very myste- 
rious letter it was. She began many sentences without 
ending them, running them one into another, in much 
the same confused sort of way in which written words 
run together on blotting-paper. All I could make out 
was, that if my father was better (which she hoped he 
was), and would take warning and wear a great-coat 
from Michaelmas ^ to Lady-day,^ if turbans were in 
fashion, could I tell her? such a piece of gayety was 
158 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


159 


going to happen as had not been seen or known of since 
WombwelFs lions ^ came, when one of them ate a little 
child^s arm; and she was, perhaps, too old to care about 
dress; but a new cap she must have; and, having heard 
that turbans were worn, and some of the county families 
likely to come, she would like to look tidy, if I would 
bring her a cap from the milliner I employed; and oh, 
dear! how careless of her to forget that she wrote to beg 
I would come and pay her a visit next Tuesday; when 
she hoped to have something to offer me in the way of 
amusement, which she would not now more particu- 
larly describe, only sea-green was her favorite color. 
So she ended her letter; but in a P. S. she added, she 
thought she might as well tell me what was the peculiar 
attraction to Cranford just now; Signor Brunoni was 
going to exhibit his wonderful magic in the Cranford 
Assembly Rooms, on Wednesday and Friday evening in 
the following week. 

I was very glad to accept the invitation from my dear 
Miss Matty, independently of the conjurer; and most 
particularly anxious to prevent her from disfiguring her 
small, gentle, mousey face with a great Saracen’s-head 
turban; and accordingly I bought her a pretty, neat, 
middle-aged cap, which, however, was rather a dis- 
appointment to her when, on my arrival, she followed 
me into my bed-room, ostensibly to poke the fire, but 
in reality, I do believe, to see if the sea-green turban 
was not inside the cap-box with which I had travelled. 
It was in vain that I twirled the cap round on my hand 
to exhibit back and side fronts: her heart had been set 


160 


CRANFORD 


upon a turban, and all she could do was to say, with 
resignation in her look and voice: 

am sure you did your best, my dear. It is just 
like the caps all the ladies in Cranford are wearing, and 
they have had theirs for a year, I dare say. I should 
have liked something newer, I confess — something 
more like the turbans Miss Betty Barker tells me 
Queen Adelaide wears; but it is very pretty, my dear. 
And I dare say lavender will wear better than sea-green. 
Well, after all, what is dress that we should care about 
it! Youdl tell me if you want anything, my dear. Here 
is the bell. I suppose turbans have not got down to 
Drumble yet?’^ 

So saying, the dear old lady gently bemoaned herself 
out of the room, leaving me to dress for the evening, 
when, as she informed me, she expected Miss Pole and 
Mrs. Forrester, and she hoped I should not feel myself 
too much tired to join the party. Of course I should 
not; and I made some haste to unpack and arrange my 
dress; but, with all my speed, I heard the arrivals and 
the buzz of conversation in the next room before I was 
ready. Just as I opened the door I caught the words: 

was foolish to expect anything very genteel out of 
the Drumble shops — poor girl! she did her best, IVe no 
doubt.’’ But, for all that, I had rather that she blamed 
Drumble and me than disfigured herself with a turban. 

Miss Pole was always the person, in the trio of Cran- 
ford ladies now assembled, to have had adventures. 
She was in the habit of spending the morning in ram- 
bling from shop to shop; not to purchase anything 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


161 


(except an occasional reel of cotton or a piece of tape), 
but to see the new articles and report upon them, and 
to collect all the stray pieces of intelligence in the town. 
She had a way, too, of demurely popping hither and 
thither into all sorts of places to gratify her curiosity 
on any point; a way which, if she had not looked so 
very genteel and prim, might have been considered 
impertinent. And now, by the expressive way in which 
she cleared her throat, and waited for all minor subjects 
(such as caps and turbans) to be cleared off the course, 
we knew she had something very particular to relate, 
when the due pause came; and I defy any people, 
possessed of common modesty, to keep up a conversa- 
tion long, where one among them sits up aloft in silence, 
looking down upon all the things they chance to say 
as trivial and contemptible compared to what they 
could disclose if properly entreated. Miss Pole began: 

^^As I was stepping out of Gordon’s shop to-day, I 
chanced to go into the George (my Betty has a second 
cousin who is chamber-maid there, and I thought Betty 
would like to hear how she was), and, not seeing any one 
about, I strolled up the staircase, and found myself in 
the passage leading to the Assembly Room (you and I 
remember the Assembly Room, I am sure. Miss Matty! 
and the minuets de la cour! ^) ; so I went on, not thinking 
of what I was about, when, all at once, I perceived that 
I was in the middle of the preparations for to-morrow 
night — the room being divided with great clothes- 
maids, over which Crosby’s men were tacking red 
flannel; very dark and odd it seemed; it quite bewildered 


162 


CRANFORD 


me, and I was going on behind the screens, in my 
absence of mind, when a gentleman (quite the gentle- 
man, I can assure you) stepped forward and asked if I 
had any business he could arrange for me. He spoke 
such pretty broken English, I could not help thinking 
of Thaddeus of Warsav/, ^ and the Hungarian Brothers, 
and Santo Sebastiani; and while I was busy picturing 
his past life to myself, he had bowed me out of the room. 
But wait a minute! You have not heard half my 
story yet! I was going downstairs, when who should 
I meet but Betty’s second cousin. So, of course, I 
stopped to speak to her for Betty’s sake; and she told 
me that I had really seen the conjurer — the gentleman 
who spoke broken English was Signor Brunoni himself. 
Just at this moment he passed us on the stairs, making 
such a graceful bow, in reply to which I dropped a 
curtsy — all foreigners have such polite manners, one 
catches something of it. But when he had gone down- 
stairs, I bethought me that I had dropped my glove in 
the Assembly Room (it was safe in my muff all the 
time, but I never found it till afterward); so I went 
back, and, just as I was creeping up the passage left 
on one side of the great screen that goes nearly across the 
room, who should I see but the very same gentleman 
that had met me before, and passed me on the stairs, 
coming now forward from the inner part of the room, 
to which there is no entrance — you remember. Miss 
Matty — and just repeating, in his pretty broken Eng- 
lish, the inquiry if I had any business there — I don’t 
mean that he put it quite so bluntly, but he seemed very 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


163 


determined that I should not pass the screen; so, of 
course, I explained about my glove, which, curiously 
enough, I found at that very moment.’^ 

Miss Pole then had seen the conjurer — the real, live 
conjurer! — and numerous were the questions we all 
asked her: ^^Had he a beard? ^^Was he young or 
old?^^ ^^Fair or dark?^^ ^^Did he look’^ — (unable to 
shape my question prudently, I put it in another form) — 
'^How did he look?’' In short. Miss Pole was the 
heroine of the evening, owing to her morning’s encoun- 
ter. If she was not the rose (that is to say, the conjurer), 
she had been near it. 

Conjuration, sleight of hand, magic, witchcraft, were 
the subjects of the evening. Miss Pole was slightly 
skeptical, and inclined to think there might be a sci- 
entific solution found for even the proceedings of the 
witch of Endor.^ Mrs. Forrester believed everything, 
from ghosts to death-watches. Miss Matty ranged 
between the two — always convinced by the last speaker. 
I think she was naturally more inclined to Mrs. For- 
rester’s side, but a desire of proving herself a worthy 
sister to Miss Jenkyns kept her equally balanced — 
Miss Jenkyns, who would never allow a servant to call 
the little rolls of tallow that formed themselves round 
candles, “winding-sheets,” but insisted on their being 
spoken of as “roley-poleys!” A sister of hers to be 
superstitious! It would never do! 

After tea, I was despatched downstairs into the 
dining-parlor for that volume of the old Encyclopedia 
which contained the nouns beginning with C, in order 


164 


CRANFORD 


that Miss Pole might prime herself with scientific 
explanations for the tricks of the following evening. 
It spoiled the pool at Preference which Miss Matty and 
Mrs. Forrester had been looking forward to, for Miss 
Pole became so much absorbed in her subject, and the 
plates by which it was illustrated, that we felt it would 
be cruel to disturb her, otherwise than by one or two 
well-timed yawns, which I threw in now and then, for 
I was really touched by the meek way in which the two 
ladies were bearing their disappointment. But Miss 
Pole only read the more zealously, imparting to us no 
more interesting information than this: 

‘^Ah! I see — I comprehend perfectly. A represents 
the ball. Put A between B and D — no! between C and 
F — and turn the second joint of the third finger of your 
left hand over the wrist of your right H. Very clear 
indeed! My dear Mrs. Forrester, conjuring and witch- 
craft is a mere affair of the alphabet. Do let me read 
you this one passage?’^ 

Mrs. Forrester implored Miss Pole to spare her, 
saying, from a child upward, she never could understand 
being read aloud to, and I dropped the pack of cards, 
which I had been shuffling very audibly; and by this 
discreet movement I obliged Miss Pole to perceive that 
Preference was to have been the order of the evening, 
and to propose, rather unwillingly, that the pool should 
commence. The pleasant brightness that stole over 
the other two ladies’ faces on this! Miss Matty had 
one or two twinges of self-reproach for having inter- 
rupted Miss Pole in her studies; and did not remember 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


165 


her cards well or give her full attention to the game, 
until she had soothed her conscience by offering to lend 
the volume of the Encyclopedia to Miss Pole, who 
accepted it thankfully, and said Betty should take it 
home when she came with the lantern. 

The next evening we were all in a little gentle flutter 
at the idea of the gayety before us. Miss Matty went 
up to dress betimes, and hurried me until I was ready, 
when we found we had an hour and a half to wait before 
the doors opened at seven precisely.” And we had 
only twenty yards to go! However, as Miss Matty 
said, it would not do to get too much absorbed in any 
thing, and forget the time; so she thought we had better 
sit quietly, without lighting the candles, until five 
minutes to seven. So Miss Matty dozed, and I knitted. 

At length we set off; and at the door, under the 
carriage-way at the George, we met Mrs. Forrester and 
Miss Pole; the latter was discussing the subject of the 
evening with more vehemence than ever, and throwing 
A^s and B^s at our heads like hailstones. She had even 
copied one or two of the receipts” — as she called 
them — for the different tricks, on backs of letters, 
ready to explain and to detect Signor Brunoni^s arts. 

We went into the cloak-room adjoining the Assembly 
Room; Miss Matty gave a sigh or two to her departed 
youth, and the remembrance of the last time she had 
been there, as she adjusted her pretty new cap before 
the strange, quaint old mirror in the cloak-room. The 
Assembly Room had been added to the inn about a 
hundred years before by the different county families, 


166 


CRANFORD 


who met together there once a month during the winter, 
to dance and play at cards. Many a county beauty had 
first swum through the minuet that she afterward 
danced before Queen Charlotte ^ in this very room. It 
was said that one of the Gunnings^ had graced the 
apartment with her beauty; it was certain that a rich 
and beautiful widow, Lady Williams, had here been 
smitten with the noble figure of a young artist, who was 
staying with some family in the neighborhood for pro- 
fessional purposes, and accompanied his patrons to the 
Cranford Assembly. And a pretty bargain poor Lady 
Williams had of her handsome husband, if all tales were 
true! Now no beauty blushed and dimpled along the 
sides of the Cranford Assembly Room; no handsome 
artist won hearts by his bow, chapeau bras ^ in hand; the 
old room was dingy; the salmon-colored paint had 
faded into a drab; great pieces of plaster had chipped 
off from the white wreaths and festoons on its walls; but 
still a mouldy odor of aristocracy lingered about the 
place, and a dusty recollection of the days that were 
gone made Miss Matty and Mrs. Forrester bridle up as 
they entered, and walk mincingly up the room, as if 
there were a number of genteel observers, instead of 
two little boys, with a stick of toffy between them with 
which to beguile the time. 

We stopped short at the second front row; I could 
hardly understand why, until I heard Miss Pole ask a 
stray waiter if any of the county families were expected; 
and when he shook his head, and believed not, Mrs. For- 
rester and Miss Matty moved forward, and our party 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


167 


represented a conversational square. The front row 
was soon augmented and enriched by Lady Glenmire 
and Mrs. Jamieson. We six occupied the two front 
rows, and our aristocratic seclusion was respected by 
the groups of shop-keepers who strayed in from time to 
time, and huddled together on the back benches. At 
least I conjectured so, from the noise they made, and the’ 
sonorous bumps they gave in sitting down; but when, in 
weariness of the obstinate green curtain, that would 
not draw up, but would stare at me with two odd eyes, 
seen through holes, as in the old tapestry story, I would 
fain have looked round at the merry chattering people 
behind me. Miss Pole clutched my arm, and begged me 
not to turn, for “it was not the thing.’^ What “the 
thing was I never could find out, but it must have 
been something eminently dull and tiresome. However, 
We all sat eyes right, square front, gazing at the tanta- 
lizing curtain, and hardly speaking intelligibly, we were 
BO afraid of being caught in the vulgarity of making any 
noise in a place of public amusement. Mrs. Jamieson 
Was the most fortunate, for she fell asleep. 

At length the eyes disappeared — the curtain quiv- 
ered — one side went up before the other, which stuck 
fast; it was dropped again, and, with a fresh effort, and 
a vigorous pull from some unseen hand, it flew up, re- 
vealing to our sight a magnificent gentleman in the 
Turkish costume, seated before a little table, gazing 
at us (I should have said with the same eyes that I had 
last seen through the hole in the curtain) with calm 
and condescending dignity, “like a being of another 


168 


CRANFORD 


sphere/^ as I heard a sentimental voice ejaculate be- 
hind me. - 

That’s not Signor Brunoni!” said Miss Pole, de- 
cidedly, and so audibly that I am sure he heard, for he 
glanced down over his flowing beard at our party with 
an air of mute reproach. ‘^Signor Brunoni had no 
beard — but perhaps he’ll come soon.” So she lulled 
herself into patience. Meanwhile Miss Matty had 
reconnoitred through her eye-glass; wiped it, and 
looked again. Then she turned around, and said to me, 
in a kind, mild, sorrowful tone: 

You see, my dear, turbans are worn.” 

But we had no time for more conversation. The 
Grand Turk, as Miss Pole chose to call him, arose and 
announced himself as Signor Brunoni. 

don’t believe him!” exclaimed Miss Pole, in a 
deflant manner. He looked at her again, with the same 
dignifled upbraiding in his countenance. don’t!” 
she repeated, more positively than ever. Signor 
Brunoni had not got that muffy sort of thing about his 
chin, but looked like a closed-shaved Christian gentle- 
man.” 

Miss Pole’s energetic speeches had the good effect of 
waking up Mrs. Jamieson, who opened her eyes wide, in 
sign of the deepest attention — a proceeding which 
silenced Miss Pole, and encouraged the Grand Turk to 
proceed, which he did in very broken English — so 
broken that there was no cohesion between the parts 
of his sentences; a fact, which he himself perceived at 
last, and so left off speaking and proceeded to action. 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


169 


Now we were astonished. How he did his tricks I 
could not imagine; no, not even when Miss Pole pulled 
out her pieces of paper and began reading aloud — or, at 
least, in a very audible whisper — the separate “re- 
ceipts’’ for the most common of his tricks. If ever I 
saw a man frown, and look enraged, I saw the Grand 
Turk frown at Miss Pole: but, as she said, what could 
be expected but unchristian looks from a Mussulman? 
If Miss Pole was skeptical, and more engrossed with 
her receipts and diagrams than with his tricks. Miss 
Matty and Mrs. Forrester were mystified and per- 
plexed to the highest degree. Mrs. Jamieson kept tak- 
ing her spectacles off and wiping them, as if she thought 
it was something defective in them which made the 
legerdemain; and Lady Glenmire, who had seen many 
curious sights in Edinburgh, was very much struck with 
the tricks, and would not at all agree with Miss Pole, 
who declared that anybody could do them with a little 
practice — and that she would herself undertake to do 
all that he did, with two hours given to study the 
Encyclopedia, and make her third finger flexible. 

At last. Miss Matty and Mrs. Forrester became per- 
fectly awestricken. They whispered together. I sat just 
behind them, so I could not help hearing what they were 
saying. Miss Matty asked Mrs. Forrester “if she 
thought it was quite right to have come to see such 
things! She could not help fearing they were lending 
encouragement to something that was not quite — ” a 
little shake of the head filled up the blank. Mrs. 
Forrester replied, that the same thought had crossed 


170 


CRANFORD 


her mind; she, too, was feeling very uncomfortable; 
it was so very strange. She was quite certain that it 
was her pocket-handkerchief which was in that loaf 
just now; and it had been in her own hand not five 
minutes before. She wondered who had furnished the 
bread. She was sure it could not be Dakin, because he 
was the church-warden. Suddenly Miss Matty half 
turned toward me: 

^^Will you look, my dear — ^you are a stranger in the 
town, and it won’t give rise to unpleasant reports — will 
you just look round and see if the rector is here? If he 
is, I think we may conclude that this wonderful man 
is sanctioned by the Church, and that will be a great 
relief to my mind.” 

I looked, and I saw the tall, thin, dry, dusty rector, 
sitting surrounded by National School boys, guarded by 
troops of his own sex from any approach of the many 
Cranford spinsters. His kind face was all agape with 
broad smiles, and the boys around him were in chinks of 
laughing. I told Miss Matty that the Church was 
smiling approval, which set her mind at ease. 

I have never named Mr. Hayter, the rector, because I, 
as a well-to-do and happy young woman, never came in 
contact with him. He was an old bachelor, but as 
afraid of matrimonial reports getting abroad about him 
as any girl of eighteen; and he would rush into a shop, 
or dive down an entry, sooner than encounter any of 
the Cranford ladies in the street; and, as for the Pref- 
erence parties, I did not wonder at his not accepting 
invitations to them. To tell the truth, I always sus- 


SIGNOR BRUNONI 


171 


pected Miss Pole of having given very vigorous chase 
to Mr. Hayter when he first came to Cranford; and not 
the less, because now she appeared to share so vividly 
in his dread lest her name should ever be coupled with 
his. He found all his interests among the poor and 
helpless; he had treated the National School boys this 
very night to the performance; and virtue was for once 
its own reward, for they guarded him right and left, 
and clung round him as if he had been the queen bee, 
and they the swarm. He felt so safe in their environ- 
ment, that he could even afford to give our party a bow 
as we filed out. Miss Pole ignored his presence, and 
pretended to be absorbed in convincing us that we had 
been cheated, and had not seen Signor Brunoni after all. 


CHAPTER X 


THE PANIC 

I THINK a series of circumstances dated from Signor 
Brunoni^s visit to Cranford, which seemed at the time 
connected in our minds with him, though I donT know 
that he had anything really to do with them. All at 
once all sorts of uncomfortable rumors got afloat in the 
town. There were one or two robberies — ^real bona fide ^ 
robberies; men had up before the magistrates and com- 
mitted for trial; and that seemed to make us all afraid 
of being robbed; and for a long time at Miss Matty ^s, 
I know, we used to make a regular tour all round the 
kitchens and cellars every night, Miss Matty leading 
the way, armed with the poker, I following with the 
hearth brush, and Martha carrying the shovel and fire- 
irons with which to sound the alarm; and by the acci- 
dental hitting together of them she often frightened us 
so much that we bolted ourselves up, all three together, 
in the back kitchen, or storeroom, or wherever we hap- 
pened to be, till, when our affright was over, we recol- 
lected ourselves, and set out afresh with double valiance. 
By day we heard strange stories from the shop-keepers 
and cottagers, of carts that went about in the dead of 
night, drawn by horses shod with felt, and guarded by 
men in dark clothes, going round the town, no doubt, in 
172 


THE PANIC 


173 


search of some unwatched house or some unfastened 
door. 

Miss Pole, who affected great bravery herself, was the 
principal person to collect and arrange these reports, so 
as to make them assume their most fearful aspect. But 
we discovered that she had begged one of Mr. Hoggins^s 
worn-out hats to hang up in her lobby, and we (at least 
I) had doubts as to whether she really would enjoy 
the little adventure of having her house broken into, as 
she protested she should. Miss Matty made no secret 
of being an arrant coward, but she went regularly 
through her housekeeper's duty of inspection — only the 
hour for this became earlier and earlier, till at last we 
went the rounds at half-past six, and Miss Matty ad- 
journed to bed soon after seven, ^^in order to get the 
night over the sooner.’’ 

Cranford had so long piqued itself on being an honest 
and moral town, that it had grown to fancy itself too 
genteel and well-bred to be otherwise, and felt the stain 
upon its character at this time doubly. But we com- 
forted ourselves with the assurance which we gave to 
each other, that the robberies could never have been 
committed by any Cranford person; it must have been 
a stranger or strangers who brought this disgrace upon 
the town, and occasioned as many precautions as if we 
were living among the Red Indians or the French. 

This last comparison of our nightly state of defence 
and fortification was made by Mrs. Forrester, whose 
father had served under General Burgoyne in the 
American war, and whose husband had fought the 


174 


CRANFORD 


French in Spain. She indeed inclined to the idea that, 
in some way, the French were connected with the 
small thefts, which were ascertained facts, and the 
burglaries and highway robberies, which were rumors. 
She had been deeply impressed with the idea of French 
spies, at some time in her life; and the notion could 
never be fairly eradicated, but sprang up again from 
time to time. And now her theory was this: the Cran- 
ford people respected themselves too much, and were 
too grateful to the aristocracy who were so kind as to 
live near the town, ever to disgrace their bringing up 
by being dishonest or immoral; therefore, we must be- 
lieve that the robbers were strangers — if strangers, why 
not foreigners? — if foreigners, who so likely as the 
French? Signor Brunoni spoke broken English like a 
Frenchman, and, though he wore a turban like a Turk, 
Mrs. Forrester had seen a print of Madame de Stael ^ 
with a turban on, and another of Mr. Denon^ in just such 
a dress as that in which the conjurer had made his 
appearance; showing clearly that the French, as well 
as the Turks, wore turbans. There could be no doubt 
Signor Brunoni was a Frenchman — a French spy, come 
to discover the weak and undefended places of England; 
and, doubtless, he had his accomplices. For her part, 
she, Mrs. Forrester, had always had her own opinion 
of Miss Pole^s adventure at the George Inn — seeing 
two men where only one was believed to be: French 
people had ways and means, which she was thankful 
to say the English knew nothing about; and she had 
never felt quite easy in her mind about going to see that 


THE PANIC 


175 


conjurer; it was rather too much like a forbidden thing, 
though the rector was there. In short, Mrs. Forrester 
grew more excited than we had ever known her before; 
and, being an officer’s daughter and widow, we looked 
up to her opinion, of course. 

Really, I do not know how much was true or false in 
the reports which flew about like wildfire just at this 
time; but it seemed to me then that there was every 
reason to believe that at Mardon (a small town about 
eight miles from Cranford) houses and shops were 
entered by holes made in the walls, the bricks being 
silently carried away in the dead of the night, and all 
done so quietly that no sound was heard either in or 
out of the house. Miss Matty gave it up in despair 
when she heard of this. ^^What was the use,” said she, 
‘^of locks and bolts, and bells to the windows, and going 
round the house every night? That last trick was fit for 
a conjurer. Now she did believe that Signor Brunoni 
was at the bottom of it.” 

One afternoon, about five o’clock, we were startled by 
a hasty knock at the door. Miss Matty bade me run 
and tell Martha on no account to open the door till she 
(Miss Matty) had reconnoitred through the window; 
and she armed herself with a footstool to drop down on 
the head of the visitor, in case he should show a face 
covered with black crape, as he looked up in answer 
to her inquiry of who was there. But it was nobody 
but Miss Pole and Betty. The former came upstairs, 
carrying a little hand-basket, and she was evidently 
in a state of great agitation. 


176 


CRANFORD 


'^Take care of that!’^ said she to me, as I offered to 
relieve her of her basket. ^^It^s my plate. I am sure 
there is a plan to rob my house to-night. I am come to 
throw myself on your hospitality, Miss Matty. Betty 
is going to sleep with her cousin at the George. I can 
sit up here all night, if you will allow me; but my house 
is so far from any neighbors, and I don’t believe we 
could be heard if we screamed ever so!” 

^^But,” said Miss Matty, ^^what has alarmed you so 
much? Have you seen any men lurking about the 
house?” 

^^Oh yes!” answered Miss Pole. ^^Two very bad 
looking men have gone three times past the house, very 
slowly; and an Irish beggar-woman came not half an 
hour ago, and all but forced herself in past Betty, saying 
her children were starving, and she must speak to the 
mistress. You see, she said ^mistress,’ though there was 
a hat hanging up in the hall, and it would have been 
more natural to have said 'master.’ But Betty shut 
the door in her face, and came up to me, and we got 
the spoons together, and sat in the parlor window 
watching till we saw Thomas Jones going from his 
work, when we called to him, and asked him to take 
care of us into the town.” 

We might have triumphed over Miss Pole, who had 
professed such bravery until she was frightened; but 
we were too glad to perceive that she shared in the 
weaknesses of humanity to exult over her; and I gave 
up my room to her very willingly, and shared Miss 
Matty’s bed for the night. But before we retired, the 


THE PANIC 


177 


two ladies rummaged up, out of the recesses of their 
memory, such horrid stories of robbery and murder, 
that I quite quaked in my shoes. Miss Pole was evi- 
dently anxious to prove that such terrible events had 
occurred within her experience, that she was justified 
in her sudden panic ; and Miss Matty did not like to be 
outdone, and capped every story with one yet more 
horrible, till it reminded me, oddly enough, of an old 
story I had read somewhere, of a nightingale and a 
musician, who strove one against the other which could 
produce the most admirable music, till poor Philomel 
dropped down dead. 

One of the stories, that haunted me for a long time 
afterward, was of a girl, who was left in charge of a 
great house in Cumberland, on some particular fair-day, 
when the other servants all went off to the gayeties. 
The family were away in London, and a peddler came 
by, and asked to leave his large and heavy pack in the 
kitchen, saying he would call for it again at night; and 
the girl (a game-keeper’s daughter), roaming about in 
search of amusement, chanced to hit upon a gun hanging 
up in the hall, and took it down to look at the chasing; 
and it went off through the open kitchen door, hit the 
pack, and a slow, dark thread of blood came oozing out. 
(How Miss Pole enjoyed this part of the story, dwelling 
on each word as if she loved it !) She rather hurried over 
the further account of the girl’s bravery, and I have but 
a confused idea that, somehow, she baffled the robbers 
with Italian irons, heated red hot, and then restored to 
blackness by being dipped in grease. 


178 


CRANFORD 


We parted for the night with an awestricken wonder 
as to what we should hear of in the morning — and on my 
part, with a vehement desire for the night to be over 
and gone; I was so afraid lest the robbers should have 
seen, from some dark lurking-place, that Miss Pole had 
carried off her plate, and thus have a double motive for 
attacking our house, r 

But, until Lady Glenmire came to call next day, we 
heard of nothing unusual. The kitchen fire-irons were 
in exactly the same position against the back door, as 
when Martha and I had skilfully piled them up like 
spillikins,^ ready to fall with an awful clatter if only a 
cat had touched the outside panels. I had wondered 
what we should all do if thus awakened and alarmed, 
and had proposed to Miss Matty that we should cover 
up our faces under the bedclothes, so that there should 
be no danger of the robbers thinking that we could 
identify them; but Miss Matty, who was trembling 
very much, scouted this idea, and said we owed it to 
society to apprehend them, and that she should cer- 
tainly do her best to lay hold of them, and lock them 
up in the garret till morning. 

When Lady Glenmire came, we almost felt jealous of 
her. Mrs. Jamieson’s house had really been attacked; 
at least there were men’s footsteps to be seen on the 
flower-borders, underneath the kitchen windows, where 
nae men should be;” ^ and Carlo had barked all through 
the night as if strangers were abroad. Mrs. Jamieson 
had been awakened by Lady Glenmire, and they had 
rung the bell which communicated with Mr. Mulliner’s 


THE PANIC 


179 


room in the third story, and when his night-capped 
head had appeared over the banisters in answer to the 
summons, they had told him of their alarm, and the 
reasons for it; whereupon he retreated into his bedroom, 
and locked the door (for fear of draughts, as he informed 
them in the morning), and opened the window, and 
called out valiantly to say if the supposed robbers would 
come to him, he would fight them; but, as Lady Glen- 
mire observed, that was but poor comfort, since they 
would have to pass by Mrs. Jamieson’s room and her 
own before they could reach him, and must be of a very 
pugnacious disposition indeed if they neglected the 
opportunities of robbery presented by the unguarded 
lower stories, to go up to a garret, and there force a door 
in order to get at the champion of the house. Lady 
Glenmire, after waiting and listening for some time in 
the drawing-room, had proposed to Mrs. Jamieson that 
they should go to bed; but that lady said she should not 
feel comfortable unless she sat up and watched; and, 
accordingly, she packed herself warmly up on the sofa, 
where she was found by the housemaid, when she came 
into the room at six o’clock, fast asleep; but Lady Glen- 
mire went to bed, and kept awake all night. 

When Miss Pole heard of this she nodded her head in 
great satisfaction. She had been sure we should hear of 
something happening in Cranford that night; and we 
had heard. It was clear enough they had first proposed 
to attack her house; but when they saw that she and 
Betty were on their guard, and had carried off the plate, 
they had changed their tactics and gone to Mrs. Jamie- 


180 


CRANFORD 


son’s, and no one knew what might have hap- 
pened if Carlo had not barked, like a good dog as 
he was. 

Poor Carlo! his barking days were nearly over. 
Whether the gang who infested the neighborhood were 
afraid of him; or whether they were revengeful enough 
for the way in which he had baffled them on the night 
in question to poison him; or whether, as some among 
the more uneducated people thought, he died of apo- 
plexy, brought on by too much feeding and too little 
exercise; at any rate, it is certain that, two days after 
this eventful night. Carlo was found dead, with his poor 
little legs stretched out stiff in the attitude of running, 
as if by such unusual exertion he could escape the sure 
pursuer. Death. 

We were all sorry for Carlo, the old familiar friend 
who had snapped at us for so many years; and the mys- 
terious mode of his death made us very uncomfortable. 
Could Signor Brunoni be at the bottom of this? He had 
apparently killed a canary with only a word of com- 
mand; his will seemed of deadly force; who knew but 
what he might yet be lingering in the neighborhood, 
willing all sorts of awful things! 

We whispered these fancies among ourselves in the 
evenings; but in the mornings our courage came back 
with the daylight, and in a week’s time we had got over 
the shock of Carlo’s death — all but Mrs. Jamieson. 
She, poor thing, felt it as she had felt no event since her 
husband’s death; indeed Miss Pole said, that as the 
Honorable Mr. Jamieson drank a good deal, and 


THE PANIC 


181 


occasioned her much uneasiness, it was possible that 
Carious death might be the greater affliction. But there 
was always a tinge of cynicism in Miss Pole^s remarks. 
However, one thing was clear and certain; it was nec- 
essary for Mrs. Jamieson to have some change of scene; 
and Mr. Mulliner was very impressive on this point, 
shaking his head whenever we inquired after his mis- 
tress, and speaking of her loss of appetite and bad nights 
very ominously; and with justice too, for if she had two 
characteristics in her natural state of health, they were 
a facility of eating and sleeping. If she could neither 
eat nor sleep, she must bfe indeed out of spirits and out 
of health. 

Lady Glenmire (who had evidently taken very kindly 
to Cranford) did not like the idea of Mrs. Jamieson’s 
going to Cheltenham, and more than once insinuated 
pretty plainly that it was Mr. Mulliner’s doing, who had 
been much alarmed on the occasion of the house being 
attacked, and since had said, more than once, that he 
felt it a very responsible charge to have to defend so 
many women. Be that as it might, Mrs. Jamieson went 
to Cheltenham, escorted by Mr. Mulliner; and Lady 
Clenmire remained in possession of the house, her 
ostensible office being to take care that the maid- 
servants did not pick up followers. She made a very 
pleasant-looking dragon; and, as soon as it was arranged 
for her stay in Cranford, she found out that Mrs. 
Jamieson’s visit to Cheltenham was just the best thing 
in the world. She had let her house in Edinburgh, and 
was for the time houseless, so the charge of her sister- 


182 


CRANFOm 


in-law^s comfortable abode was very convenient and 
acceptable. 

Miss Pole was very much inclined to install herself as 
a heroine, because of the decided steps she had taken 
in flying from the two men and one woman, whom she 
entitled ^Hhat murderous gang.’’ She described their 
appearance in glowing colors, and I noticed that every 
time she went over the story some fresh trait of villainy 
was added to their appearance. One was tall — he grew 
to be gigantic in height before we had done with him; 
he, of course, had black hair — and by and by it hung in 
elf-locks over his forehead and down his back. The 
other was short and broad — and a hump sprouted out 
on his shoulder before we heard the last of him; he had 
red hair — ^which deepened into carroty; and she was al- 
most sure he had a cast in his eye — a decided squint. As 
for the woman, her eyes glared, and she was masculine- 
looking, — a perfect virago; most probably a man 
dressed in woman’s clothes: afterward we heard of a 
beard on her chin, and a manly voice and a stride. 

If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of 
that afternoon to all inquirers, others were not so proud 
of their adventures in the robbery line. Mr. Hoggins, 
the surgeon, had been attacked at his own door by two 
ruffians, who were concealed in the shadow of the porch, 
and so effectually silenced him, that he was robbed in 
the interval between ringing his bell and the servant’s 
answering it. Miss Pole was sure it would turn out 
that this robbery had been committed by ^^her men,” 
and went the very day she heard of the report to have 


THE PANIC 


183 


her teeth examined, and to question Mr. Hoggins. 
She came to us afterwards; so we heard what she had 
heard, straight and direct from the source, while we 
were yet in the excitement and flutter of the agitation 
caused by the first intelligence; for the event had only 
occurred the night before. 

“Well!’’ said Miss Pole, sitting down with the deci- 
sion of a person who has made up her mind as to the 
nature of life and the world (and such people never 
tread lightly or seat themselves without a bump) — 
“Well, Miss Matty! men will be men. Every mother’s 
son of them wishes to be considered Samson and Solo- 
mon rolled into one — too strong ever to be beaten or 
discomfited — too wise ever to be outwitted. If you will 
notice, they have always foreseen events, though they 
never tell one for one’s warning before the events 
happen; my father was a man, and I know the sex 
pretty well.” 

She had talked herself out of breath, and we should 
have been very glad to fill up the necessary pause as 
chorus, but we did not exactly know what to say, or 
which man had suggested this diatribe against the sex; 
so we only joined in generally, with a grave shake of the 
head, and a soft murmur of “They are very incompre- 
hensible, certainly!” 

“Now only think,” said she. “There I have under- 
gone the risk of having one of my remaining teeth 
drawn (for one is terribly at the mercy of any surgeon- 
dentist; and I, for one, always speak them fair till I 
have got my mouth out of their clutches), and after all, 


184 


CRANFORD 


Mr. Hoggins is too much of a man to own that he was 
robbed last night.^^ 

^^Not robbed!^’ exclaimed the chorus. 

Don’t tell me!” Miss Pole exclaimed, angry that 
we could be for a moment imposed upon. believe he 
was robbed, just as Betty told me, and he is ashamed to 
own it; and, to be sure, it was very silly of him to be 
robbed just at his own door; I dare say he feels that 
such a thing won’t raise him in the eyes of Cranford 
society, and is anxious to conceal it; but he need not 
have tried to impose upon me, by saying I must have 
heard an exaggerated account of some petty theft of a 
neck of mutton, which, it seems, was stolen out of the 
safe in his yard last week; he had the impertinence to 
add, he believed that that was taken by the cat. I 
have no doubt, if I could get at the bottom of it, it was 
that Irishman dressed up in woman’s clothes, who came 
spying about my house, with the story about the 
starving children.” 

After we had duly condemned the want of candor 
which Mr. Hoggins had evinced, and abused men in gen- 
eral, taking him for the representative and type, we got 
round to the subject about which we had been talking 
when Miss Pole came in — namely, how far, in the 
present disturbed state of the country, we could venture 
to accept an invitation which Miss Matty had just re- 
ceived from Mrs. Forrester, to come as usual and keep 
the anniversary of her wedding-day, by drinking tea 
with her at five o’clock, and playing a quiet pool after- 
ward. Mrs. Forrester had said that she asked us with 


THE PANIC 


185 


some diffidence, because the roads were, she feared, 
very unsafe. But she suggested that perhaps one of us 
would not object to take the sedan; and that the others 
by walking briskly, might keep up with the long trot 
of the chairmen, and so we might all arrive safely at 
Over Place, a suburb of the town. (No. That is too 
large an expression: a small cluster of houses separated 
from Cranford by about two hundred yards of a dark 
and lonely lane.) There was no doubt but that a 
similar note was awaiting Miss Pole at home; so her 
call was a very fortunate affair, as it enabled us to con- 
sult together. We would all much rather have declined 
this invitation; but we felt that it would not be quite 
kind to Mrs. Forrester, who would otherwise be left to 
a solitary retrospect of her not very happy or fortunate 
life. Miss Matty and Miss Pole had been visitors on 
this occasion for many years; and now they gallantly 
determined to nail their colors to the mast,- and to go 
through Darkness Lane rather than fail in loyalty to 
their friend. 

But when the evening came. Miss Matty (for it was 
she who was voted into the chair, as she had a cold), 
before being shut down in the sedan, like jack-in-a-box, 
implored the chairmen, whatever might befall, not to 
run away and leave her fastened up there, to be mur- 
dered; and even after they had promised, I saw her 
tighten her features into the stern determination of a 
martyr, and she gave me a melancholy and ominous 
shake of the head through the glass. However, we got 
there safely, only rather out of breath, for it was who 


186 


CRANFORD 


could trot hardest through Darkness Lane, and I am 
afraid Miss Matty was sadly jolted. 

Mrs. Forrester had made extra preparations in 
acknowledgment of our exertion in coming to see her 
through such dangers. The usual forms of genteel 
ignorance as to what her servants might send up were 
all gone through; and harmony and Preference seemed 
likely to be the order of the evening, but for an interest- 
ing conversation that began I donT know how, but 
which had relation, of course, to the robbers who in- 
fested the neighborhood of Cranford. 

Having braved the dangers of Darkness Lane, and 
thus having a little stock of reputation for courage to 
fall back upon; and also, I dare say, desirous of proving 
ourselves superior to men {vide licet ^ Mr. Hoggins), in 
the article of candor, we began to relate our individual 
fears, and the private precautions we each of us took. 
I owned that my pet apprehension was eyes — eyes 
looking at me, and watching me, glittering out from 
some dull flat wooden surface; and that if I dared to go 
up to my looking-glass when I was panic-stricken, I 
should certainly turn it round, with its back toward me, 
for fear of seeing eyes behind me looking out of the 
darkness. I saw Miss Matty nerving herself up for a 
confession; and at last out it came. She owned that, 
ever since she had been a girl, she had dreaded being 
caught by her last leg, just as she was getting into bed, 
by some one concealed under the bed. She said, when 
she was younger and more active, she used to take a 
flying leap from a distance, and so bring both her legs 


THE PANIC 


187 


up safely into bed at once; but that this had always 
annoyed Deborah, who piqued herself upon getting into 
bed gracefully, and she had given it up in consequence. 
But now the old terror would often come over her, espe- 
cially since Miss Pole^s house had been attacked (we had 
got quite to believe in the fact of the attack having 
taken place), and yet it was very unpleasant to think 
of looking under a bed, and seeing a man concealed, 
with a great fierce face staring out at you; so she had 
bethought herself of something — perhaps I had noticed 
that she had told Martha to buy her a penny ball, such 
as children play with — and now she rolled this ball 
under the bed every night; if it came out on the other 
side, well and good; if not, she always took care to have 
her hand on the bellrope, and meant to call out John 
and Harry, just as if she expected men-servants to 
answer her ring. 

We all applauded this ingenious contrivance, and 
Miss Matty sank back into dignified silence, with a 
look at Mrs. Forrester as if to ask for her private weak- 
ness. 

Mrs. Forrester looked askance at Miss Pole, and 
tried to change the subject a little, by telling us that 
she had borrowed a boy from one of the neighboring 
cottages, and promised his parents a hundred weight 
of coals at Christmas, and his supper every evening, 
for the loan of him at nights. She had instructed him 
in his possible duties when he first came; and, finding 
him sensible, she had given him the Major^s sword 
(the Major was her late husband), and desired him to 


188 


CRANFORD 


put it very carefully behind his pillow at night, turning 
the edge toward the head of the pillow. He was a 
sharp lad, she was sure; for, spying out the Major’s 
cocked hat, he had said, if he might have that to wear 
he was sure he could frighten two Englishmen or four 
Frenchmen, any day. But she had impressed upon him 
anew that he was to lose no time in putting on hats or 
anything else; but, if he heard any noise, he was to run 
at it with his drawn sword. On my suggestion that 
some accident might occur from such slaughterous 
and indiscriminate directions, and that he might rush 
on Jenny getting up to wash, and have spitted her be- 
fore he had discovered that she was not a Frenchman, 
Mrs. Forrester said she did not think that that was 
likely, for he was a very sound sleeper, and generally had 
to be well shaken, or cold-pigged ^ in a morning, before 
they could rouse him. She sometimes thought such 
dead sleep must be owing to the hearty suppers the poor 
lad ate, for he was half starved at home, and she told 
Jenny to see that he got a good meal at night. 

Still this was no confession of Mrs. Forrester’s pecu- 
liar timidity, and we urged her tell us what she thought 
would frighten her more than anything. She paused, 
and stirred the fire, and snuffed the candles, and then 
she said, in a sounding whisper: 

^^Ghosts!” 

She looked at Miss Pole, as much as to say she had 
declared it, and would stand by it. Such a look was a 
challenge in itself. Miss Pole came down upon her 
with indigestion, spectral illusions, optical delusions. 


THE PANIC 


189 


and a great deal out of Dr. Ferrier ^ and Dr. Hibbert 
besides. Miss Matty had rather a leaning to ghosts, as 
I have said before, and what little she did say, was all 
on Mrs. Forrester^s side, who, emboldened by sympathy, 
protested that ghosts were a part of her religion; that 
surely she, the widow of a major in the army, knew 
what to be frightened at, and what not; in short, I 
never saw Mrs. Forrester so warm either before or since, 
for she was a gentle, meek, enduring old lady in most 
things. Not all the elder wine that ever was mulled, 
could this night wash out the remembrance of this 
difference between Miss Pole and her hostess. Indeed, 
when the elder wine was brought in, it gave rise to a 
new burst of discussion; for Jenny, the little maiden 
who staggered under the tray, had to give evidence of 
having seen a ghost with her own eyes, not so many 
nights ago, in Darkness Lane — the very lane we were to 
go through on our way home. 

In spite of the uncomfortable feeling which this last 
consideration gave me, I could not help being amused 
at Jenny ^s position, which was exceedingly like that of a 
witness being examined and cross-examined by two 
counsel who are not at all scrupulous about asking 
leading questions. The conclusion I arrived at was, 
that Jenny had certainly seen something beyond what 
a fit of indigestion would have caused. A lady all in 
white, and without her head, was what she deposed and 
adhered to, supported by a consciousness of the secret 
sympathy of her mistress under the withering scorn 
with which Miss Pole regarded her. And not only she, 


190 


CRANFORD 


but many others, had seen this headless lady, who sat 
by the roadside wringing her hands as in deep grief. 
Mrs. Forrester looked at us from time to time, with an 
air of conscious triumph; but then she had not to pass 
through Darkness Lane before she could bury herself 
beneath her own familiar bedclothes. 

We preserved a discreet silence as to the headless lady 
while we were putting on our things to go home, for 
there was no knowing how near the ghostly head and 
ears might be, or what spiritual connection they might 
be keeping up with the unhappy body in Darkness Lane; 
and, therefore, even Miss Pole felt that it was as well 
not to speak lightly on such subjects, for fear of vexing 
or insulting that woebegone trunk. At least, so I con- 
jecture; for, instead of the busy clatter usual in the 
operation, we tied on our cloaks as sadly as mutes at a 
funeral. Miss Matty drew the curtains round the 
windows of the chair to shut out disagreeable sights; 
and the men (either because they were in spirits that 
their labors were so nearly ended, or because they were 
going down hill) set off at such a round and merry pace, 
that it was all Miss Pole and I could do to keep up with 
them. She had breath for nothing beyond an imploring 
^^Don^t leave me!’^ uttered as she clutched my arm so 
tightly that I could not have quitted her, ghost or no 
ghost. What a relief it was when the men, weary 
of their burden and their quick trot, stopped just where 
Headingley Causeway branches off from Darkness 
Lane! Miss Pole unloosed me and caught at one of the 
men. 


THE PANIC 


191 


Could not you — could not you take Miss Matty 
round by Headingley Causeway — the pavement in 
Darkness Lane jolts so, and she is not very strong?^’ 

A smothered voice was heard from the inside of the 
chair: 

“Oh! pray go on! what is the matter? What is the 
matter? I will give you sixpence more to go on very 
fast; pray don^t stop here!^’ 

“And I will give you a shilling,’^ said Miss Pole, with 
tremulous dignity, “if youdl go by Headingley Cause- 
way/^ 

The two men grunted acquiescence, and took up the 
chair and went along the causeway, which certainly an- 
swered Miss Pole^s kind purpose of saving Miss Matty^s 
bones; for it was covered with soft, thick mud, and even 
a fall there would have been easy, till the getting up 
came, when there might have been some difficulty in 
extrication. 


CHAPTER XI 


SAMUEL BROWN 

The next morning I met Lady Glenmire and Miss 
Pole, setting out on a long walk to find some old woman 
who was famous in the neighborhood for her skill in 
knitting woollen stockings. Miss Pole said to me, with 
a smile half-kindly and half-contemptuous upon her 
coimtenance: have been just telling Lady Glenmire 

of our poor friend Mrs. Forrester, and her terror of 
ghosts. It comes from living so much alone, and listen- 
ing to the bugaboo stories of that Jenny of hers.” She 
was so calm and so much above superstitious fears her- 
self that I was almost ashamed to say how glad I had 
been of her Headingley Causeway proposition the night 
before, and turned off the conversation to something 
else. 

In the afternoon Miss Pole called on Miss Matty to 
tell her of the adventure — the real adventure they had 
met with on their morning^s walk. They had been per- 
plexed about the exact path which they were to take 
across the fields, in order to find the knitting old woman, 
and had stopped to inquire at a little wayside public 
house, standing on the high road to London, about 
three miles from Cranford. The good woman had asked 
them to sit down and rest themselves, while she fetched 
192 


SAMUEL BROWN 


193 


her husband, who could direct them better than she 
could; and, while they were sitting in the sanded parlor, 
a little girl came in. They thought that she belonged to 
the landlady, and began some trifling conversation with 
her; but, on Mrs. Roberts’s return, she told them that 
the little thing was the only child of a couple who were 
staying in the house. And then she began a long story, 
out of which Lady Glenmire and Miss Pole could only 
gather one or two decided facts; which were that, about 
six weeks ago, a light spring-cart had broken down just 
before their door, in which there were two men, one 
woman, and this child. One of the men was seriously 
hurt — no bones broken, only shaken,” the landlady 
called it; but he had probably sustained some severe 
internal injury, for he had languished in their house 
ever since, attended by his wife, the mother of this 
little girl. Miss Pole had asked what he was, what he 
looked like. And Mrs. Roberts had made answer that 
he w^as not like a gentleman, nor yet like a common 
person; if it had not been that he and his wife were such 
decent, quiet people, she could almost have thought he 
was a mountebank, or something of that kind, for they 
had a great box in the cart, full of she did not know 
what. She had helped to unpack it, and take out their 
linen and clothes, when the other man — his twin- 
brother, she believed he was — had gone off with the 
horse and cart. 

Miss Pole had begun to have her suspicions at this 
point, and expressed her idea that it was rather strange 
that the box, the cart, and horse and all, should have 


194 


CRANFORD 


disappeared; but good Mrs. Roberts seemed to have 
become quite indignant at Miss Pole^s implied sugges- 
tion; in fact, Miss Pole said she was as angry as if Miss 
Pole had told her that she herself was a swindler. As 
the best way of convincing the ladies, she bethought 
her of begging them to see the wife; and, as Miss Pole 
said, there was no doubting the honest, worn, bronze 
face of the woman, who, at the first tender word from 
Lady Glenmire, burst into tears, which she was too 
weak to check, until some word from the landlady 
made her swallow down her sobs, in order that she 
might testify to the Christian kindness shown by Mr. 
and Mrs. Roberts. Miss Pole came round with a swing 
to as vehement a belief in the sorrowful tale as she had 
been skeptical before ; and, as a proof of this, her energy 
in the poor sufferer’s behalf was nothing daunted when 
she found out that he, and no other, was our Signor 
Brunoni, to whom all Cranford had been attributing 
all manner of evil this six weeks past! Yes! his wife 
said his proper name was Samuel Brown — “Sam,” she 
called him — but to the last we preferred calling him 
“the Signor”: it sounded so much better. 

The end of their conversation with the Signora 
Brunoni was, that it was agreed that he should be placed 
under medical advice, and for any expense incurred in 
procuring this Lady Glenmire promised to hold herself 
responsible, and had accordingly gone to Mr. Hoggins to 
beg him to ride over to the Rising Sun that very after- 
noon, and examine into the Signor’s real state; and as 
Miss Pole said, if it was desirable to remove him to 


SAMUEL BROWN 


195 


Cranford, to be more immediately under Mr. Hoggins^s 
eye, she would undertake to see for lodgings, and ar- 
range about the rent. Mrs. Roberts had been as kind 
as could be all throughout, but it was evident that their 
long residence there had been a slight inconvenience. 

Before Miss Pole left us. Miss Matty and I were as 
full of the morning^s adventure as she was. We talked 
about it all the evening, turning it in every possible 
light, and we went to bed anxious for the morning, 
when we should surely hear from some one what Mr. 
Hoggins thought and recommended. For, as Miss 
Matty observed, though Mr. Hoggins did say ^^Jack^s 
up,’’ ^^a fig for his heels,” and call Preference ^^Pref,” 
she believed he was a very worthy man, and a very 
clever surgeon. Indeed, we were rather proud of our 
doctor at Cranford, as a doctor. We often wished, 
when we heard of Queen Adelaide or the Duke of 
Wellington being ill, that they would send for Mr. 
Hoggins; but, on consideration, we were rather glad 
they did not, for if we were ailing, what should we do if 
Mr. Hoggins had been appointed physician in ordinary 
to the royal family? As a surgeon we were proud of 
him, but as a man — or rather, I should say, as a gentle- 
man — ^we could only shake our heads over his name and 
himself, and wished that he had read Lord Chesterfield’s 
Letters ^ in the days when his manners were susceptible 
of improvement. Nevertheless, we all regarded his 
dictum in the Signor’s case as infallible; and when he 
said that with care and attention he might rally, we 
had no more fear for him. 


196 


CRANFORD 


But, although we had no more fear, everybody did as 
much as if there was great cause for anxiety — as indeed 
there was, until Mr. Hoggins took charge of him. Miss 
Pole looked out clean and comfortable, if homely, lodg- 
ings; Miss Matty sent the sedan-chair for him; and 
Martha and I aired it well before it left Cranford, by 
holding a warming-pan full of red-hot coals in it, and 
then shutting it up close, smoke and all, until the time 
when he should get into it at the Rising Sun. Lady 
Glenmire undertook the medical department under 
Mr. Hoggins^s directions; and rummaged up all Mrs. 
Jamieson^s medicine glasses, and spoons, and bed- 
tables, in a free-and-easy way, that made Miss Matty 
feel a little anxious as to what that lady and Mr. Mul- 
liner might say, if they knew. Mrs. Forrester made 
some of the bread-jelly for which she was so famous, to 
have ready as a refreshment in the lodgings when he 
should arrive. A present of this bread-jelly was the 
highest mark of favor dear Mrs. Forrester could confer. 
Miss Pole had once asked her for the receipt, but she 
had met with a very decided rebuff; that lady told her 
that she could not part with it to any one during her 
life, and that after her death it was bequeathed, as her 
executors would find, to Miss Matty. What Miss 
Matty — or, as Mrs. Forrester called her (remembering 
the clause in her will and the dignity of the occasion), 
Miss Matilda Jenkyns — might choose to do with the 
receipt when it came into her possession — whether to 
make it public, or to hand it down as an heirloom — she 
did not know, nor would she dictate. And a mould of 


SAMVEL BROWN 


197 


this admirable, digestible, unique bread-jelly was sent 
by Mrs. Forrester to our poor sick conjurer. Who says 
that the aristocracy are proud? Here was a lady, by 
birth a Tyrrell, ^ and descended from the great Sir 
Walter that shot King Rufus, and in whose veins ran 
the blood of him who murdered the little princes in the 
Tower, going every day to see what dainty dishes she 
could prepare for Samuel Brown, a mountebank! But, 
indeed, it was wonderful to see what kind feelings were 
called out by this poor man’s coming among us. And 
also wonderful to see how the great Cranford panic, 
which had been occasioned by his first coming in his 
Turkish dress, melted away into thin air on his second 
coming — pale and feeble, and with his heavy, filmy 
eyes, that only brightened a very little when they fell 
upon the countenance of his faithful wife, or their pale 
and sorrowful little girl. 

Somehow, we all forgot to be afraid. I dare say it 
was that finding out that he, who had first excited our 
love of the marvellous by his unprecedented arts, had 
not sufficient every-day gifts to manage a shying horse, 
made us feel as if we were ourselves again. Miss Pole 
came with her little basket at all hours of the evening, 
as if her lonely house, and the unfrequented road to it, 
had never been infested by that murderous gang.” 
Mrs. Forrester said she thought that neither Jenny nor 
she need mind the headless lady who wept and wailed 
in Darkness Lane, for surely the power was never given 
to such beings to harm those who went about to try to 
do what little good was in their power; to which Jenny 


198 


CRANFORD 


tremblingly assented; but the mistresses theory had little 
effect on the maid’s practice, until she had sewed two 
pieces of red flannel, in the shape of a cross, on her 
inner garment. 

I found Miss Matty covering her penny ball — ^the 
ball that she used to roll under her bed — ^with gay- 
colored worsted in rainbow stripes. 

'My dear,” said she, "my heart is sad for that little 
careworn child. Although her father is a conjurer, she 
looks as if she had never had a good game of play in her 
life. I used to make very pretty balls in this way when I 
was a girl, and I thought I would try if I could not make 
this one smart, and take it to Phoebe this afternoon. I 
think 'the gang’ must have left the neighborhood, for 
one does not hear any more of their violence and 
robbery now.” 

We were all of us far too full of the Signor’s precarious 
state to talk about either robbers or ghosts. Indeed, 
Lady Glenmire said she never had heard of any actual 
robberies; except that two little boys had stolen some 
apples from Farmer Benson’s orchard, and that some 
eggs had been missed on a market-day off Widow Hay- 
ward’s stall. But that was expecting too much of us; 
we could not acknowledge that we had only had this 
small foundation for all our panic. Miss Pole drew 
herself up at this remark of Lady Glenmire’s; and said 
"that she wished she could agree with her as to the very 
small reason we had had for alarm; but, with the recol- 
lection of a man disguised as a woman, who had en- 
deavored to force himself into her house, while his con- 


SAMUEL BROWN 


199 


federates waited outside; with the knowledge gained 
from Lady Glenmire herself, of the footprints seen on 
Mrs. Jamieson^s flower-borders; with the fact before 
her of the audacious robbery committed on Mr. Hog« 
gins at his own door — But here Lady Glenmire 
broke in with a very strong expression of doubt as 
to whether this last story was not an entire fabrication, 
founded upon the theft of a cat; she grew so red while 
she was saying all this, that I was not surprised at 
Miss Pole^s manner of bridling up, and I am certain, if 
Lady Glenmire had not been ^^her ladyship,’^ we should 
have had a more emphatic contradiction than the 
^^Well, to be sure!’’ and similar fragmentary ejacula- 
tions, which were all that she ventured upon in my 
lady’s presence. But when she was gone. Miss Pole 
began a long congratulation to Miss Matty that so far 
they had escaped marriage, which she noticed always 
made people credulous to the last degree; indeed, she 
thought it argued great natural credulity in a woman 
if she could not keep herself from being married; and 
in what Lady Glenmire had said about Mr. Hoggins’s 
robbery, we had a specimen of what people came to if 
they gave way to such weakness; evidently. Lady 
Glenmire would swallow anything, if she could believe 
the poor vamped-up story about a neck of mutton and 
a pussy, with which he had tried to impose on Miss 
Pole, only she had always been on her guard against 
believing too much of what men said. 

We were thankful, as Miss Pole desired us to be, that 
we had never been married; but I think of the two, we 


200 


CRANFORD 


were even more thankful that the robbers had left 
Cranford; at least I judge so from a speech of Miss 
Matty’s that evening, as we sat over the fire, in which 
she evidently looked upon a husband as a great pro- 
tector against thieves, burglars, and ghosts; and said 
that she did not think that she should dare to be always 
warning young people against matrimony, as Miss Pole 
did continually — to be sure, marriage was a risk, as she 
saw now she had had some experience; but she remem- 
bered the time when she had looked forward to being 
married as much as any one. 

^^Not to any particular person, my dear,” said she, 
hastily checking herself up, as if she were afraid of 
having admitted too much; ^^only the old story, you 
know, of ladies always sa3dng ^When I marry,’ and 
gentlemen, ‘ 7 / I marry.’” It was a joke spoken in 
rather a sad tone, and I doubt if either of us smiled; 
but I could not see Miss Matty’s face by the flickering 
firelight. In a little while she continued : 

^^But, after all, I have not told you the truth. It is so 
long ago, and no one ever knew how much I thought of 
it at the time, unless, indeed, my dear mother guessed; 
but I may say that there was a time when I did not 
think I should have been only Miss Matty Jenk3uis all 
my life; for even if I did meet with any one who wished 
to marry me now (and as Miss Pole says, one is never 
too safe), I could not take him — I hope he would not 
take it too much to heart, but I could not take him — or 
any one but the person I once thought I should be 
married to, and he is dead and gone, and he never knew 


SAMUEL BROWN 


201 


how it all came about that I said ^No/ when I had 
thought many and many a time — well, it^s no matter 
what I thought. God ordains it all, and I am very 
happy, my dear. No one has such kind friends as I,’’ 
continued she, taking my hand and holding it in hers. 

If I had never known of Mr. Holbrook, I could have 
said something in this pause; but as I had, I could not 
think of anything that would come in naturally, and 
so we both kept silence for a little time. , 

^^My father once made us,^’ she began, ^^keep a 
diary in two columns; on one side we were to put down 
in the morning what we thought would be the course 
and events of the coming day, and at night we were to 
put down on the other side what really had happened. 
It would be to some people rather a sad way of telling 
their lives — (a tear dropped upon my hand at these 
words)— don^t mean that mine has been sad, only 
so very different to what I expected. I remember, one 
winter^s evening, sitting over our bedroom fire with 
Deborah — I remember it as if it were yesterday — and 
we were planning our future lives — both of us were 
planning, though only she talked about it. She said 
she should like to marry an archdeacon,^ and write 
his charges, and you know, my dear, she never was 
married, and, for aught I know, she never spoke to an 
unmarried archdeacon in her life. I never was ambi- 
tious, nor could I have written charges, but I thought I 
could manage a house (my mother used to call me her 
right hand), and I was always so fond of little children — 
the shyest babies would stretch their little arms to come 


202 


CRANFORD 


to me — when I was a girl, I was half my leisure time 
nursing in the neighboring cottages; but I don’t know 
how it was, when I grew sad and grave — ^which I did a 
year or two after this time — the little things drew back 
from me, and I am afraid I lost the knack, though I am 
just as fond of children as ever, and I have a strange 
yearning at my heart whenever I see a mother with her 
baby in her arms. Nay, my dear — ” (and by a sudden 
blaze which sprang up from a fall of the unstirred coals, 
I saw that her eyes were full of tears — ^gazing intently 
on some vision of what might have been) — ^^do you 
know, I dream sometimes^ that I have a little child — 
always the same — a little girl of about two years old; 
she never grows older, though I have dreamed about 
her for many years. I don’t think I ever dream of any 
words or sound she makes; she is very noiseless and 
still; but she comes to me when she is very sorry or very 
glad, and I have wakened with the clasp of her dear 
little arms around my neck. Only last night — perhaps 
because I had gone to sleep thinking of this ball for 
Phoebe — ^my little darling came in my dream, and put up 
her mouth to be kissed, just as I have seen real babies do 
to real mothers before going to bed. But all this is 
nonsense, dear! — only don’t be frightened by Miss Pole 
from being married. I can fancy it may be a very happy 
state, and a little credulity helps one on through life 
very smoothly — better than always doubting and 
doubting, and seeing difficulties and disagreeables in 
everything.” 

If I had been inclined to be daunted from matrimony, 


SAMUEL BROWN 


203 


it would not have been Miss Pole to do it; it would have 
been the lot of poor Signor Brunoni and his wife. And 
yet again, it was an encouragement to see how, through 
all their cares and sorrows, they thought of each other 
and not of themselves; and how keen were their joys, 
if they only passed through each other, or through the 
little Phoebe. 

The Signora told me, one day, a good deal about their 
lives up to this period. It began by my asking her 
whether Miss Pole’s story of the twin-brothers was true ; 
it sounded so wonderful a likeness, that I should have 
had my doubts, if Miss Pole had not been unmarried. 
But the Signora, or (as we found out she preferred to be 
called) Mrs. Brown, said it was quite true; that her 
brother-in-law was by many taken for her husband, 
which was of great assistance to them in their profes- 
sion; ^Hhough,” she continued, ‘^how people can mis- 
take Thomas for the real Signor Brunoni, I can’t con- 
ceive; but he says they do, so I suppose I must believe 
him. Not but what he is a very good man; I am sure I 
don’t know how we should have paid our bill at the 
Rising Sun, but for the money he sends; but people 
must know very little about art, if they can take him 
for my husband. Why, Miss, in the ball trick where my 
husband spreads his fingers wide, and throws out his 
little finger with quite an air and a grace, Thomas just 
clumps up his hand like a fist, and might have ever so 
many balls hidden in it. Besides, he has never been in 
India, and knows nothing of the proper sit of a turban.” 

“Have you been in India?” said I, rather astonished. 


204 


CRANPORD 


^^Oh, yes! many a year, ma'am. Sam was a sergeant 
in the 31st; and when the regiment was ordered to India, 
I drew a lot to go, and I was more thankful than I can tell ; 
for it seemed as if it would only be a slow death to me 
to part from my husband. But, indeed, ma'am, if I had 
known all, I don't know whether I would not rather 
have died there and then, than gone through what I 
have done since. To be sure, I've been able to comfort 
Sam, and to be with him; but, ma'am, I've lost six 
children," said she, looking up at me with those strange 
eyes, that I have never noticed but in mothers of dead 
children — ^with a kind of wild look in them, as if seeking 
for what they never more might find. ‘‘Yes! six chil- 
dren died off, like little buds nipped untimely, in that 
cruel India. I thought, as each died, I never could — I 
never would love a child again; and when the next came, 
it had not only its own love, but the deeper love that 
came from the thoughts of its little dead brothers and 
sisters. And when Phoebe was coming, I said to my 
husband : ‘ Sam, when the child is born, and I am strong, 
I shall leave you; it will cut my heart cruel; but if this 
baby dies too, I shall go mad; the madness is in me now; 
but if you will let me go down to Calcutta, carrying my 
baby step by step, it will, maybe, work itself off; and 
I will save, and I will hoard, and I will beg — and I will 
die, to get a passage home to England, where our baby 
may live!' God bless him! he said I might go; and he 
saved up his pay, and I saved every pice ^ I could get for 
washing or any way; and when Phoebe came, and I 
grew strong again, I set off. It was very lonely; through 


SAMUEL BROWN 


205 


the thick forests, dark again with their heavy trees — 
along by the rivers’ side — (but I had been brought up 
near the Avon in Warwickshire, so that flowing noise 
sounded like home). From station to station, from 
Indian village to village, I went along, carrying my 
child. I had seen one of the officers’ ladies with a little 
picture, ma’am — done by a Catholic foreigner, ma’am — 
of the Virgin and the little Saviour, ma’am. She had 
him on her arm, and her form was softly curled round 
him, and their cheeks touched. Well, when I went to 
bid good-by to this lady, for whom I had washed, she 
cried sadly; for she, too, had lost her children, but she 
had not another to save, like me; and I was bold enough 
to ask her, would she give me that print? And she 
cried the more, and said her children were with that little 
blessed Jesus; and gave it me; and told me she had 
heard it had been painted on the bottom of a cask, 
which made it have that round shape. And when my 
body was very weary and my heart was sick — (for there 
were times when I misdoubted if I could ever reach my 
home, and there were times when I thought of my hus- 
band; and one time when I thought my baby was dying) 
— I took out that picture and looked at it, till I could 
have thought the mother spoke to me, and comforted 
me. And the natives were very kind. We could not 
understand one another; but they saw my baby on my 
breast, and they came out to me, and brought me rice 
and milk, and sometimes flowers — I have got some of 
the flowers dried. Then, the next morning, I was so 
tired! and they wanted me to stay with them — I could 


206 


CRANFORD 


tell that — and tried to frighten me from going into the 
deep woods, which, indeed, looked very strange and 
dark; but it seemed to me as if Death was following me 
to take my baby away from me; and as if I must go on, 
and on — and I thought how God had cared for mothers 
ever since the world was made, and would care for me; 
so I bade them good-by, and set off afresh. And once 
when my baby was ill, and both she and I needed rest, 
he led me to a place where I found a kind Englishman 
lived, right in the midst of the natives.’^ 

^^And you reached Calcutta safely at last?” 

Yes! safely. Oh! when I knew I had only two days^ 
journey more before me, I could not help it, ma^am — it 
might be idolatry, I cannot tell — ^but I was near one of 
the native temples and I went in it with my babe to 
thank God for his great mercy; for it seemed to me that 
where others had prayed before to their God, in their 
joy or in their agony, was of itself a sacred place. And 
I got as servant to an invalid lady, who grew quite fond 
of my baby aboard ship; and in two years ^ time Sam 
earned his discharge, and came home to me and to our 
child. Then he had to fix on a trade, but he knew of 
none; and once, once upon a time, he had learned some 
tricks from an Indian juggler, so he set up conjuring, 
and it answered so well that he took Thomas to help 
him — as his man, you know, not as another conjurer, 
though Thomas has set it up now on his own hook. But 
it has been a great help to us, that likeness between the 
twins, and made a good, many tricks go off well that 
they made up together. And Thomas is a good brother, 


SAMUEL BROWN 


207 


only he has not the fine carriage of my husband, so that 
I can^t think how he can be taken for Signor Brunoni 
himself, as he says he is/^ 

“Poor little Phoebe!^' said I, my thoughts going back 
to the baby she carried all those hundred miles. 

“ Ah ! you may say so ! I never thought I should have 
reared her, though, when she fell ill at Chunderabad- 
dad; but that good, kind Aga ^ Jenkyns took us in, which 
I believe was the very saving of her” 

Jenkyns,’^ said I. 

“Yes, Jenkyns. I shall think all people of that name 
are kind; for here is that nice old lady who comes every 
day to take Phoebe a walk!’^ 

But an idea had flashed through my head: could the 
Aga Jenkyns be the lost Peter? True, he was reported 
by many to be dead. But, equally true, some one had 
said that he had arrived at the dignity of Great Lama ^ 
of Thibet. Miss Matty thought he was alive. I would 
make further inquiry. 


CHAPTER XII 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 

Was the '^poor Peter of Cranford the Aga Jenkyns 
of Chunderabaddad, or was he not? As somebody says, 
that was the question. 

In my own home, whenever people had nothing else 
to do, they blamed me for want of discretion. Indiscre- 
tion was my bugbear fault. Everybody has a bugbear 
fault; a sort of standing characteristic — a piece de resist- 
ance ^ for their friends to cut at; and in general they cut 
and come again. I was tired of being called indiscreet 
and incautious; and I determined for once to prove 
myself a model of prudence and wisdom. I would not 
even hint my suspicions respecting the Aga. I would 
collect evidence, and carry it home to lay before my 
father, as the family friend of the two Miss Jenkynses. 

In my search after facts, I was often reminded of a 
description my father had once given of a Ladies^ Com- 
mittee that he had had to preside over. He said he 
could not help thinking of a passage in Dickens, which 
spoke of a chorus in which every man took the tune he 
knew best, and sang it to his own satisfaction. So, at this 
charitable committee, every lady took the subject upper- 
most in her mind, and talked about it to her own great 
208 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


209 


contentment, but not much to the advancement of the 
subject they had met to discuss. But even that com- 
mittee could have been nothing to the Cranford ladies 
when I attempted to gain some clear and definite in- 
formation as to poor Peter^s height, appearance, and 
when and where he was seen and heard of last. For 
instance, I remember asking Miss Pole (and I thought 
the question was very opportune, for I put it when I 
met her at a call at Mrs. Forrester^s, and both the ladies 
had known Peter, and I imagined that they might re- 
fresh each other^s memories); I asked Miss Pole what 
was the very last thing they had ever heard about him; 
and then she named the absurd report to which I have 
alluded, about his having been elected Great Lama of 
Thibet; and this was a signal for each lady to go off on 
her separate idea. Mrs. Forrester^s start was made on 
the Veiled Prophet in Lalla Rookh ^ — ^whether I thought 
he was meant for the Great Lama; though Peter was 
not so ugly, indeed, rather handsome, if he had not been 
freckled. I was thankful to see her double upon Peter; 
but in a moment the delusive lady was off upon Row- 
land's Kalydor,^ and the merits of cosmetics and hair- 
oils, in general, and holding forth so fiuently, that I 
turned to listen to Miss Pole, who (through the llamas, 
the beasts of burden) had got to Peruvian bonds, and 
the share market, and her poor opinion of joint-stock 
banks in general, and of that one in particular in which 
Miss Matty^s money was invested. In vain I put in, 
When was it — in what year was it, that you heard that 
Mr. Peter was the Great Lama?^’ They only joined 


210 


CRANFORD 


issue to dispute whether llamas were carnivorous 
animals or not, in which dispute they were not quite on 
fair grounds, as Mrs. Forrester (after they had grown 
warm and cool again) acknowledged that she always 
confused carnivorous and graminivorous together, 
just as she did horizontal and perpendicular; but then 
she apologized for it very prettily by saying that in her 
day the only use people made of four-syllabled words 
was to teach how they should be spelled. 

The only fact I gained from this conversation was 
that certainly Peter had last been heard of in India, “or 
that neighborhood;” and that this scanty intelligence of 
his whereabouts had reached Cranford in the year when 
Miss Pole had bought her India muslin gown, long since 
worn out (we washed it, and mended it, and traced its 
decline and fall into a window-blind, before we could 
go on) ; and in a year when Womb well came to Cranford, 
because Miss Matty had wanted to see an elephant, in 
order that she might the better imagine Peter riding on 
one, and had seen a boa-constrictor too, which was more 
than she wished to imagine in her fancy pictures of 
Peter^s locality — and in a year when Miss Jenkyns had 
learned some piece of poetry off by heart, and used to 
say, at all the Cranford parties, how Peter was “sur- 
veying mankind from China to Peru,” ^ which everybody 
had thought very grand, and rather appropriate, be- 
cause India was between China and Peru, if you took 
care to turn the globe to the left instead of the right. 

I suppose all these inquiries of mine, and the con- 
sequent curiosity excited in the minds of my friends, 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 211 

made us blind and deaf to what was going around us. 
It seemed to me as if the sun rose and shone, and as if 
the rain rained on Cranford just as usual, and I did not 
notice any sign of the times that could be considered as 
a prognostic of any uncommon event; and, to the best 
of my belief, not only Miss Matty and Mrs. Forrester, 
but even Miss Pole herself, whom we looked upon as a 
kind of prophetess, from the knack she had of foreseeing 
things before they came to pass — although she did not 
like to disturb her friends by telling them her fore- 
knowledge — even Miss Pole herself was breathless 
with astonishment, when she came to tell us of the 
astounding piece of news. But I must recover myself ; 
the contemplation of it, even at this distance of time, 
has taken away my breath and my grammar, and 
unless I subdue my emotion, my spelling will go 
too. 

We were sitting — Miss Matty and I — ^much as usual; 
she in the blue chintz easy chair, with her back to the 
light, and her knitting in her hand ; I reading aloud the 
St, Jameses Chronicle. A few minutes more, and we 
should have gone to make the little alterations in dress 
usual before calling-time (twelve o’clock) in Cranford. 
I remember the scene and the date well. We had been 
talking of the Signor’s rapid recovery since the warmer 
weather had set in, and praising Mr. Hoggins’s skill, and 
lamenting his want of refinement and manner — (it 
seems a curious coincidence that this should have been 
our subject, but so it was) — ^when a knock was heard; a 
caller’s knock — three distinct taps— and we were fiying 


212 


CRANFORD 


(that is to say, Miss Matty could not walk very fast, 
having had a touch of rheumatism) to our rooms, to 
change caps and collars, when Miss Pole arrested us by 
calling out as she came up the stairs: ^^Don^t go, — I 
can’t wait — it is not twelve, I know — but never mind 
your dress — I must speak to you.” We did our best to 
look as if it was not we who had made the hurried move- 
ment, the sound of which she had heard; for, of course, 
we did not like to have it supposed that we had any old 
clothes that it was convenient to wear out in the 
sanctuary of home,” as Miss Jenkyns once prettily 
called the back parlor, where she was tying up preserves. 
So we threw our gentility with double force into our 
manners, and very genteel we were for two minutes, 
while Miss Pole recovered breath, and excited our 
curiosity strongly by lifting up her hands in amazement, 
and bringing them down in silence, as if what she had 
to say was too big for words, and could only be expressed 
by pantomime. 

^^What do you think. Miss Matty? What do you 
think? Lady Glenmire is to marry — is to be married, I 
mean — Lady Glenmire — Mr. Hoggins — Mr. Hoggins is 
going to marry Lady Glenmire!” 

Marry!” said we. Marry? Madness!” 

Marry!” said Miss Pole, with the decision that be- 
longed to her character. said ^ Marry!’ as you do; 
and I also said, ^What a fool my lady is going to make 
of herself!’ I could have said ^Madness!’ but I con- 
trolled myself, for it was in a public shop that I heard 
of it. Where feminine delicacy is gone to, I don’t know! 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


213 


You and I, Miss Matty, would have been ashamed to 
have known that our marriage was spoken of in a 
grocer ^s shop, in the hearing of shopmen! 

^^But,’’ said Miss Matty, sighing as one recovering 
from a blow, perhaps it is not true. Perhaps we are 
doing her injustice.^’ 

said Miss Pole, have taken care to ascertain 
that. I went straight to Mrs. Fitz-Adam, to borrow a 
cookery book which I knew she had; and I introduced 
my congratulations apropos of the difficulty gentlemen 
must have in housekeeping; and Mrs. Fitz-Adam 
bridled up and said that she believed it was true, though 
how and where I could have heard it she did not know. 
She said her brother and Lady Glenmire had come to an 
understanding at last. ^Understanding!’ such a coarse 
word! But my lady will have to come down to many a 
want of refinement. I have reason to believe Mr. 
Hoggins sups on bread and cheese and beer every 
night.” 

“Marry!” said Miss Matty once again. “Well! I 
never thought of it. Two people that we know going to 
be married. It’s coming very near.” 

“So near that my heart stopped beating when I 
heard of it, while you might have counted twelve,” 
said Miss Pole. 

“One does not know whose turn may come next. 
Here, in Cranford, poor Lady Glenmire might have 
thought herself safe,” said Miss Matty, with a gentle 
pity in her tones. 

“Bah!” said Miss Pole, with a toss of her head. 


214 


CRANFORD 


^^Don^t you remember poor dear Captain Brownes song, 
Tibbie Fowler and the line: 

^‘Set her on the Tintock Tap, 

The wind will blaw a man Till her.^' 

^^That was because ^Tibbie Fowler’ was rich, I 
think.” 

Well, there is a kind of attraction about Lady Glen- 
mire that I, for one, should be ashamed to have.” 

I put in my wonder. “But how can she have fancied 
Mr. Hoggins? I am not surprised that Mr. Hoggins has 
liked her.” 

“Oh! I don’t know. Mr. Hoggins is rich, and very 
pleasant-looking,” said Miss Matty, “and very good- 
tempered and kind-hearted.” 

“She has married for an establishment, that’s it. I 
suppose she takes the surgery with it,” said Miss Pole, 
with a little dry laugh at her own joke. But, like many 
people who think they have made a severe and sarcastic 
speech, which yet is clever of its kind, she began to relax 
in her grimness from the moment when she made this 
allusion to the surgery; and we turned to speculate on 
the way in which Mrs. Jamieson would receive the news. 
The person whom she had left in charge of her house to 
keep off followers from her maids, to set up a follower 
of her own! And that follower a man whom Mrs. 
Jamieson had tabooed as vulgar and inadmissible to 
Cranford society, not merely on account of his name, 
but because of his voice, his complexion, his boots, 
smelling of the stable, and himself, smelling of drugs. 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


215 


Had he ever been to see Lady Glenmire at Mrs. Jamie- 
son^s? Chloride of lime would not purify the house, in 
its owner^s estimation, if he had. Or had their inter- 
views been confined to the occasional meetings in the 
chamber of the poor sick conjurer, to whom, with all 
our sense of the mesalliance,^ we could not help allowing 
that they both had been exceedingly kind? And now 
it turned out that a servant of Mrs. Jamieson^s had been 
ill, and Mr. Hoggins had been attending her for some 
weeks. So the wolf had got into the fold, and now he 
was carrying off the shepherdess. What would Mrs. 
Jamieson say? We looked into the darkness of futurity 
as a child gazes after a rocket up in the cloudy sky, full 
of wondering expectation of the rattle, the discharge, 
and the brilliant shower of sparks and light. Then we 
brought ourselves down to earth and the present time 
by questioning each other (being all equally ignorant, 
and all equally without the slightest data to build any 
conclusions upon) as to when it would take place? 
Where? How much a year Mr. Hoggins had? Whether 
she would drop her title? And how Martha and the 
other correct servants in Cranford would ever be 
brought to announce a married couple as Lady Glen- 
mire and Mr. Hoggins? But would they be visited? 
Would Mrs. Jamieson let us? Or must we choose be- 
tween the Honorable Mrs. Jamieson and the degraded 
Lady Glenmire? We all liked Lady Glenmire the 
best. She was bright, and kind, and sociable, and 
agreeable; and Mrs. Jamieson was dull, and inert, and 
pompous, and tiresome. But we had acknowledged 


216 


CRANFORD 


the sway of the latter so long, that it seemed like a 
kind of disloyalty now even to meditate disobedience 
to the prohibition we anticipated. 

Mrs. Forrester surprised us in our darned caps and 
patched collars; and we forgot all about them in our 
eagerness to see how she would bear the information, 
which we honorably left to Miss Pole to impart, al- 
though, if we had been inclined to take unfair advantage, 
we might have rushed in ourselves, for she had a most 
out-of-place fit of coughing for five minutes after Mrs. 
Forrester entered the room. I shall never forget the 
imploring expression of her eyes as she looked at us over 
her pocket-handkerchief. They said, as plain as words 
could speak, Don’t let Nature deprive me of the 
treasure which is mine, although for a time I can make 
no use of it.” And we did not. 

Mrs. Forrester’s surprise was equal to ours; and her 
sense of injury rather greater, because she had to feel 
for her Order, and saw more fully than we could do how 
such conduct brought stains on the aristocracy. 

When she and Miss Pole left us, we endeavored to 
subside into calmness; but Miss Matty was really upset 
by the intelligence she had heard. She reckoned it up, 
and it was more than fifteen years since she had heard 
of any of her acquaintance going to be married, with 
the one exception of Miss Jessie Brown; and, as she 
said, it gave her quite a shock, and made her feel as if 
she couldn’t think what would happen next. 

I don’t know if it is a fancy of mine or a real fact, but 
I have noticed that, just after the announcement of an 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


217 


engagement in any set, the unmarried ladies in that set 
flutter out in an unusual gayety and newness of dress, as 
much as to say in a tacit and imconscious manner, 
^^We also are spinsters/’ Miss Matty and Miss Pole 
talked and thought more about bonnets, gowns, caps, 
and shawls during the fortnight that succeeded this 
call than I had known them to do for years before. 
But it might be the spring weather, for it was a warm 
and pleasant March; and merinos and beavers, and 
woolen materials of all sorts, were but ungracious 
receptacles of the bright sun’s glancing rays. It had 
not been Lady Glenmire’s dress that had won Mr. 
Hoggins’s heart, for she went about on her errands of 
kindness more shabby than ever. Although in the 
hurried glimpses I caught of her at church or elsewhere, 
she appeared rather to shun meeting any of her friends, 
her face seemed to have almost something of the flush 
of youth in it; her lips looked redder, and more trem- 
bling full than in their old compressed state, and her 
eyes dwelt on all things with a lingering light, as if she 
was learning to love Cranford and its belongings. Mr. 
Hoggins looked broad and radiant, and creaked up the 
middle aisle at church in a bran-new pair of top-boots — 
an audible as well as visible sign of his purposed change 
of state; for the tradition went that the boots he had 
worn till now were the identical pair in which he first 
set out on his rounds in Cranford twenty-five years ago ; 
only they had been new-pieced, high and low, top and 
bottom, heel and sole, black leather and brown leather, 
more times than any one could tell. 


.218 


CRANFORD 


None of the ladies of Cranford chose to sanction the 
marriage by congratulating either of the parties. We 
wished to ignore the whole affair until our liege lady, 
Mrs. Jamieson, returned. Till she came back to give us 
our cue, we felt that it would be better to consider the 
engagement in the same light as the Queen of Spain^s 
legs — facts which certainly existed, but the less said 
about the better. This restraint upon our tongues — 
for you see, if we did not speak about it to any of the 
parties concerned, how could we get answers to the 
questions that we longed to ask? — ^was beginning to be 
irksome, and our idea of the dignity of silence was 
paling before our curiosity, when another direction was 
given to our thoughts, by an announcement on the 
part of the principal shopkeeper of Cranford, who 
ranged the trades from grocer and cheesemonger to 
man-milliner, as occasion required, that the Spring 
Fashions were arrived, and would be exhibited on the 
following Tuesday, at his rooms in High Street. Now 
Miss Matty had been only waiting for this before buying 
herself a new silk gown. I had offered, it is true, to 
send to Drumble for patterns, but she had rejected my 
proposal, gently implying that she had not forgotten 
her disappointment about the sea-green turban. I was 
thankful that I was on the spot now, to counteract the 
dazzling fascination of any yellow or scarlet silk. 

I must say a word or two here about myself. I have 
spoken of my father’s old friendship for the Jehkyns 
family; indeed, I am not sure if there was not some dis- 
tant relationship. He had willingly allowed me to re- 


ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED 


219 


main all the winter at Cranford, in consideration of a 
letter which Miss Matty had written to him about the 
time of the panic, in which I suspect she had exaggerated 
my powers and my bravery as a defender of the house. 
But now that the days were longer and more cheerful, 
he was beginning to urge the necessity of my return; and 
I only delayed in a sort of odd forlorn hope that, if I 
could obtain any clear information, I might make the 
account given by the Signora of the Aga Jenkyns tally 
with that of “poor Peter, his appearance and dis- 
appearance, which I had winnowed out of the conversa- 
tion of Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester. 


CHAPTER XIII 


STOPPED PAYMENT 

The very Tuesday morning on which Mr. Johnson 
was going to show fashions, the post-woman brought 
two letters to the house. I say the post-woman, but I 
should say the postman’s wife. He was a lame shoe- 
maker, a very clean, honest man, much respected in the 
town; but he never brought the letters round, except 
on unusual occasions, such as Christmas Day or Good 
Friday; and on those days the letters, which should 
have been delivered at eight in the morning, did not 
make their appearance until two or three in the after- 
noon; for every one liked poor Thomas, and gave him 
a welcome on these festive occasions. He used to say, 
‘^He was welly stawed ^ wi’ eating, for there were three 
or four houses where nowt would serve ’em but he must 
share in their breakfast”; and by the time he had done 
his last breakfast, he came to some other friend who 
was beginning dinner; but come what might in the way 
of temptation, Tom was always sober, civil, and smiling; 
and, as Miss Jenk3ms used to say, it was a lesson in 
patience, that she doubted not would call out that 
precious quality in some minds, where, but for Thomas, 
it might have lain dormant and undiscovered. Patience 
220 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


221 


was certainly very dormant in Miss Jenkyns^s mind. 
She was always expecting letters, and always drumming 
on the table till the post-woman had called or gone past. 
On Christmas Day and Good Friday, she drummed 
from breakfast till church, from church-time till two 
o^clock — unless when the fire wanted stirring, when she 
invariably knocked down the fire irons, and scolded 
Miss Matty for it. But equally certain was the hearty 
welcome and the good dinner for Thomas; Miss Jenkyns 
standing over him like a bold dragoon, questioning him 
as to his children — ^what they were doing — what school 
they went to; upbraiding him if another was likely to 
make its appearance, but sending even the little babies 
the shilling and the mince pie, which was her gift to all 
the children, with half a crown in addition for both 
father and mother. The Post was not of half so much 
consequence to dear Miss Matty; but not for the world 
would she have diminished Thomas’s welcome, and his 
dole, though I could see that she felt rather shy over the 
ceremony, which had been regarded by Miss Jenkyns 
as a glorious opportunity for giving advice and bene- 
fiting her fellow-creatures. Miss Matty would steal 
the money all in a lump into his hand, as if she were 
ashamed of herself. Miss Jenkyns gave him each 
individual coin separate, with a There! that’s for 
yourself; that’s for Jenny,” etc. Miss Matty would 
even beckon Martha out of the kitchen while he ate 
his food; and once, to my knowledge, winked at its 
rapid disappearance into a blue cotton pocket-hand- 
kerchief. Miss Jenkyns almost scolded him if he did not 


222 


CRANFORD 


leave a clean plate, however heaped it might have been, 
and gave an injunction with every mouthful. 

I have wandered a long way from the two letters 
that awaited us on the breakfast-table that Tuesday 
morning. Mine was from my father. Miss Matty^s 
was printed. My father^s was just a man^s letter; I 
mean it was very dull, and gave no information beyond 
that he was well, that they had had a good deal of rain, 
that trade was very stagnant, and that there were many 
disagreeable rumors afloat. He then asked me if I 
knew whether Miss Matty still retained her shares in 
the Town and County Bank, as there were very un- 
pleasant reports about it; though nothing more than he 
had always foreseen, and had prophesied to Miss Jen- 
kyns years ago, when she would invest their little 
property in it — the only unwise step that clever woman 
had ever taken, to his knowledge — (the only time she 
ever acted against his advice, I knew). However, if 
anything had gone wrong, of course I was not to think 
of leaving Miss Matty while I could be of any use, etc. 

“Who is your letter from, my dear? Mine is a very 
civil invitation, signed Edwin Wilson, asking me to 
attend an important meeting of the shareholders of the 
Town and Coimty Bank, to be held in Drumble, on 
Thursday the twenty-first. I am sure it is very atten- 
tive of them to remember me.’’ 

I did not like to hear of this “important meeting,” 
for though I did not know much about business, I 
feared it confirmed what my father said; however, I 
thought; ill news always came fast enough, so I resolved 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


223 


to say nothing about my alarm, and merely told her 
that my father was well, and sent his kind regards to 
her. She kept turning over, and admiring her letter. 
At last she spoke: 

remember their sending one to Deborah just like 
this; but that I did not wonder at, for everybody knew 
she was so clear-headed. I am afraid I could not help 
them much; indeed, if they came to accounts, I should 
be quite in the way, for I never could do sums in my 
head. Deborah, I know, rather wished to go, and went 
so far as to order a new bonnet for the occasion; but 
when the time came, she had a bad cold; so they sent 
a very polite account of what they had done. Chosen 
a director, I think it was. Do you think they want me 
to help them to choose a director? I am sure I should 
choose your father at once.’^ 

^^My father has no shares in the bank,^^ said I. 

^^Oh no! I remember! He objected very much to 
Deborah’s buying any, I believe. But she was quite the 
woman of business, and always judged for herself; and 
here, you see, they have paid eight per cent all these 
years.” 

It was a very uncomfortable subject to me, with my 
half knowledge; so I thought I would change the con- 
versation, and I asked at what time she thought we had 
better go and see the fashions. ^^Well, my dear,” she 
said, ^Hhe thing is this: it is not etiquette to go till after 
twelve; but then, you see, all Cranford will be there, 
and one does not like to be too curious about dress, and 
trimmings, and caps, with all the world looking on. It 


224 


CRANFORD 


is never genteel to be over-curious on these occasions. 
Deborah had the knack of always looking as if the 
latest fashion was nothing new to her; a manner she 
had caught from Lady Arley, who did see all the new 
modes in London, you know. So I thought we would 
just slip down this morning, soon after breakfast; for 
I do want half a pound of tea; and then we could go up 
and examine the things at our leisure, and see exactly 
how my new silk gown must be made; and then, after 
twelve, we could go with our minds disengaged, and 
free from thoughts of dress.’^ 

We began to talk of Miss Matty^s new silk gown. I 
discovered that it would be really the first time in her 
life that she had had to choose anything of consequence 
for herself; for Miss Jenkyns had always been the more 
decided character, whatever her taste might have been; 
and it is astonishing how such people carry the world 
before them by the mere force of will. Miss Matty 
anticipated the sight of the glossy folds with as much 
delight as if the five sovereigns, set apart for the pur- 
chase, could buy all the silks in the shop; and (remem- 
bering my own loss of two hours in a toy-shop before I 
could tell on what wonder to spend a silver threepence) 
I was very glad that we were going early, that dear 
Miss Matty might have leisure for the delights of 
perplexity. 

If a happy sea-green could be met with, the gown was 
to be sea-green; if not, she inclined to maize, and I to 
silver gray; and we discussed the requisite number of 
breadths until we arrived at the shop door. We were 


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225 


to buy the tea, select the silk, and then clamber up the 
iron corkscrew stairs that led into what was once a loft, 
though now a Fashion showroom. 

The young men at Mr. Johnson^s had on their best 
looks, and their best cravats, and pivoted themselves 
over the counter with surprising activity. They wanted 
to show us upstairs at once; but on the principle of 
business first and pleasure afterward, we stayed to 
purchase the tea. Here Miss Matty’s absence of mind 
betrayed itself. If she was made aware that she had 
been drinking green tea at any time, she always thought 
it her duty to lie awake half through the night after- 
ward — (I have known her take it in ignorance many a 
time without such effects) — and consequently green tea 
was prohibited the house; yet to-day she herself asked 
for the obnoxious article, under the impression that she 
was talking about the silk. However, the mistake was 
soon rectified; and then the silks were imrolled in good 
truth. By this time the shop was pretty well filled, for 
it was Cranford market-day, and many of the farmers 
and country people from the neighborhood round came 
in, sleeking down their hair, and glancing shyly about 
from under their eyelids, as anxious to take back some 
notion of the unusual gayety to the mistress or the 
lasses at home, and yet feeling that they were out of 
place among the smart shopmen, and gay shawls, and 
summer prints. One honest-looking man, however, 
made his way up to the counter at which we stood, and 
boldly asked to look at a shawl or two. The other 
countryfolk confined themselves to the grocery side; 


226 


CRANFORD 


but our neighbor was evidently too full of some kind 
intention toward mistress, wife, or daughter, to be shy; 
and it soon became a question to me whether he or Miss 
Matty would keep their shopman the longest time. He 
thought each shawl more beautiful than the last; and as 
for Miss Matty, she smiled and sighed over each fresh 
bale that was brought out; one color set off another, and 
the heap together would, as she said, make even the 
rainbow look poor. 

am afraid,^^ said she, hesitating, whichever I 
choose I shall wish I had taken another. Look at this 
lovely crimson! it would be so warm in winter. But 
spring is coming on, you know. I wish I could have a 
gown for every season,’’ said she, dropping her voice — 
as we all did in Cranford whenever we talked of any- 
thing we wished for but could not afford. However,” 
she continued in a louder and more cheerful tone, ^^it 
would give me a great deal of trouble to take care of 
them if I had them; so I think I’ll only take one. But 
which must it be, my dear?” 

And now she hovered over a lilac with yellow spots, 
while I pulled out a quiet sage-green, that had faded into 
insignificance under the more brilliant colors, but which 
was nevertheless a good silk in its humble way. Our 
attention was called off to our neighbor. He had chosen 
a shawl of about thirty shillings’ value; and his face 
looked broadly happy, under the anticipation, no doubt, 
of the pleasant surprise he should give to some Molly or 
Jenny at home; he had tugged a leathern purse out of 
his breeches pocket, and had offered a five-pound note in 


STOPPED PAY MEN 'T 


227 


payment for the shawl; and for some parcels which had 
been brought round to him from the grocery counter; 
and it was just at this point that he attracted our notice. 
The shopman was examining the note with a puzzled, 
doubtful air. 

^^Town and County Bank! I am not sure, sir, but I 
believe we have received a warning against notes is- 
sued by this bank only this morning. I will just step 
and ask Mr. Johnson, sir; but I am afraid I must trouble 
you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different 
bank.” 

I never saw a man^s coimtenance fall so suddenly into 
dismay and bewilderment. It was almost piteous to 
see the rapid change. 

^^Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, 
as if to try which was the harder, ^Hhe chap talks as if 
notes and gold were to be had for the picking up.” 

Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her inter- 
est for the man. I donT think she had caught the name 
of the bank, and in my nervous cowardice I was anxious 
that she should not; and so I began admiring the 
yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly con- 
demning only a minute before. But it was of no use. 

‘^What bank was it? I mean what bank did your 
note belong to?” 

^^Town and County Bank.” 

^^Let me see it,” said she, quietly, to the shopman, 
gently taking it out of his hand, as he brought it back 
to return it to the farmer. 

Mr. Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he 


228 


CRANFORD 


had received, the notes issued by that bank were little 
better than waste paper. 

“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me, in a 
low voice. ^^That is our bank, is it not — the Town and 
County Bank?” 

^^Yes,” said I. ^^This lilac silk will just match the 
ribbons in your new cap, I believe,” I continued, holding 
up the folds so as to catch the light, and wishing that the 
man would make haste and be gone, and yet having a 
new wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it 
was wise or right in me to allow Miss Matty to make 
this expensive purchase, if the affairs of the bank were 
really so bad as the refusal of the note implied. 

But Miss Matty put on the soft, dignified manner 
peculiar to her, rarely used, and yet which became her 
so well, and, laying her hand gently on mine, she said : 

Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear. I 
don’t understand you, sir,” turning now to the shop- 
man, who had been attending to the farmer. ^^Is this a 
forged note?” 

Oh no, ma’am. It is a true note of its kind; but you 
see, ma’am, it is a joint stock bank, and there are re- 
ports out that it is likely to break. Mr. Johnson is only 
doing his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr. Dobson 
knows.” 

But Mr. Dobson could not respond to the appealing 
bow by any answering smile. He was turning the note 
absently over in his fingers, looking gloomily enough at 
the parcel containing the lately chosen shawl. 

It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, as earns every 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


229 


farthing with the sweat of his brow. However, there^s 
no help for it. You must take back your shawl, my 
man; Lizzie must do on with her cloak for a while. And 
yon figs for the little ones — I promised them to ^em — 
V\l take them; but the ’bacco and the other things — 
will give you five sovereigns for your note, my 
good man,’’ said Miss Matty. think there is some 
great mistake about it, for I am one of the shareholders, 
and I’m sure they would have told me if things had not 
been going on right.” 

The shopman whispered a word or two across the 
table to Miss Matty. She looked at him with a dubious 
air. 

Perhaps so,” said she. ^^But I don’t pretend to 
understand business; I only know that if it is going to 
fail, and if honest people are to lose their money because 
they have taken our notes — I can’t explain myself,” 
said she, suddenly becoming aware that she had got into 
a long sentence with four people for audience — ^^only 
I would rather exchange my gold for the note, if you 
please,” turning to the farmer, ^^and then you can take 
your wife the shawl. It is only going without my gown 
a few days longer,” she continued, speaking to me. 
^^Then, I have no doubt, everything will be cleared up.” 

‘^But if it is cleared up the wrong way?” said I. 

‘‘Why! then it will only have been common honesty 
in me, as a shareholder, to have given this good man the 
money. I am quite clear about it in my own mind; but, 
you know, I can never speak quite as comprehensibly as 
others can; only you must give me your note, Mr. Dob- 


230 


CRANFORD 


son, if you please, and go on with your purchases with 
these sovereigns/^ 

The man looked at her with silent gratitude — too 
awkward to put his thanks into words; but he hung 
back for a minute or two, fumbling with his note. 

“I^m loth to make another one lose instead of me, if 
it is a loss; but, you see, five pounds is a deal of money 
to a man with a family; and, as you say, ten to one, in a 
day or two, the note will be as good as gold again.’’ 

^^No hope of that, my friend,” said the shopman. 

'^The more reason why I should take it,” said Miss 
Matty, quietly. She pushed her sovereigns towards the 
man, who slowly laid his note down in exchange. 

Thank you. I will wait a day or two before I purchase 
any of these silks; perhaps you will then have a greater 
variety to choose from. My dear! will you come up- 
stairs?” 

We inspected the fashions with as minute and curious 
an interest as if the gown to be made after them had 
been bought. I could not see that the little event in the 
shop below had in the least damped Miss Matty’s 
curiosity as to make of sleeves or the sit of skirts. She 
once or twice exchanged congratulations with me on our 
private and leisurely view of the bonnets and shawls; 
but I was, all the time, not so sure that our examination 
was so utterly private, for I caught glimpses of a figure 
dodging behind the cloaks and mantles; and, by a 
dexterous move, I came face to face with Miss Pole, also 
in morning costume (the principal feature of which was 
her being without teeth, and wearing a veil to conceal 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


231 


the deficiency), come on the same errand as ourselves. 
But she quickly took her departure, because, as she 
said, she had a bad headache, and did not feel herself 
up to conversation. 

As we came down through the shop, the civil Mr. 
Johnson was awaiting us; he had been informed of the 
exchange of the note for gold, and with much good feel- 
ing and real kindness, but with a little want of tact, he 
wished to condole with Miss Matty, and impress upon 
her the true state of the case. I could only hope that 
he had heard an exaggerated rumor, for he said that her 
shares were worse than nothing, and that the bank could 
not pay a shilling in the pound. I was glad that Miss 
Matty seemed still a little incredulous; but I could not 
tell how much of this was real or assumed, with that 
self-control which seemed habitual to ladies of Miss 
Matty’s standing in Cranford, who would have thought 
their dignity compromised by the slightest expression 
of surprise, dismay, or any similar feeling to an inferior 
in station, or in a public shop. However, we walked 
home very silently. I am ashamed to say, I believe I 
was rather vexed and annoyed at Miss Matty’s conduct 
in taking the note to herself so decidedly. I had so set 
my heart upon her having a new silk gown, which she 
wanted sadly. In general she was so undecided any- 
body might turn her round; in this case I had felt that 
it was no use attempting it, but I was not the less put 
out at the result. 

Somehow, after twelve o’clock, we both acknowledged 
to a sated curiosity about the fashions; and to a certain 


232 


CRANFORD 


fatigue of body (which was, in fact, depression of mind) 
that indisposed us to go out again. But still we never 
spoke of the note; till, all at once, something possessed 
me to ask Miss Matty if she would think it her duty to 
offer sovereigns for all the notes of the Town and County 
Bank she met with. I could have bitten my tongue out 
the minute I had said it. She looked up rather sadly, 
and as if I had thrown a new perplexity into her already 
distressed mind, and for a minute or two she did not 
speak. Then she said — my own dear Miss Matty — 
without a shade of reproach in her voice: 

^^My dear, I never feel as if my mind was what people 
call very strong; and it’s often hard enough work for me 
to settle what I ought to do with the case right before 
me. I was very thankful to — I was very thankful, 
that I saw my duty this morning, with the poor man 
standing by me; but it’s rather a strain upon me to 
keep thinking and thinking what I should do if such 
and such a thing happened; and, I believe, I had rather 
wait and see what really does come; and I don’t doubt 
I shall be helped then, if I don’t fidget myself, and get 
too anxious beforehand. You know, love, I’m not like 
Deborah. If Deborah had lived, I’ve no doubt she 
would have seen after them before they had got them- 
selves into this state.” 

We had neither of us much appetite for dinner, though 
we tried to talk cheerfully about indifferent things. 
When we returned into the drawing-room. Miss Matty 
unlocked her desk and began to look over her account 
books. I was so penitent for what I had said in the 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


233 


morning, that I did not choose to take upon myself the 
presumption to suppose that I could assist her; I rather 
left her alone, as, with puzzled brow, her eye followed 
her pen up and down the ruled page. By and by she 
shut the book, locked her desk, and came and drew a 
chair to mine, where I sat in moody sorrow over the fire. 
I stole my hand into hers; she clasped it, but did not 
speak a word. At last she said, with forced composure 
in her voice, '^If that bank goes wrong, I shall lose one 
hundred and forty-nine pounds thirteen shillings and 
fourpence a year; I shall only have thirteen pounds a 
year left.’’ I squeezed her hand hard and tight. I did 
not know what to say. Presently (it was too dark to 
see her face) I felt her fingers work convulsively in 
my grasp; and I knew she was going to speak again. 
I heard the sobs in her voice as she said, hope it’s 
not wrong — ^not wicked — but oh! I am so glad poor 
Deborah is spared this. She could not have borne to 
come down in the world — she had such a noble, lofty 
spirit.” 

This was all she said about the sister who had in- 
sisted upon investing their little property in that un- 
lucky bank. We were later in lighting the candle than 
usual that night, and until that light shamed us into 
speaking, we sat together very silently and sadly. 

However, we took to our work after tea with a kind of 
forced cheerfulness (which soon became real as far as it 
went), talking of that never-ending wonder. Lady Glen- 
mire’s engagement. Miss Matty was almost coming 
round to think it a good thing. 


234 


CRANFORD 


“I don^t mean to deny that men are troublesome in a 
house. I don’t judge from my own experience, for my 
father was neatness itself, and wiped his shoes on coming 
in as carefully as any woman; but still a man has a sort 
of knowledge of what should be done in difficulties, that 
it is very pleasant to have one at hand ready to lean 
upon. Now, Lady Glenmire, instead of being tossed 
about, and wondering where she is to settle, will be cer- 
tain of a home among pleasant and kind people, such 
as our good Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester. And Mr. 
Hoggins is really a very personable man; and as for his 
manners — why, if they are not very polished, I have 
known people with very good hearts, and very clever 
minds too, who were not what some people reckoned 
refined, but who were both true and tender.” 

She fell off into a soft reverie about Mr. Holbrook, 
and I did not interrupt her, I was so busy maturing a 
plan I had had in my mind for some days, but which 
this threatened failure of the bank had brought to a 
crisis. That night, after Miss Matty went to bed, I 
treacherously lighted the candle again, and sat down 
in the drawing-room to compose a letter to the Aga 
Jenkyns — a letter which should affect him, if he were 
Peter, and yet seem a mere statement of dry facts if he 
were a stranger. The church clock pealed out two be- 
fore I had done. 

The next morning news came, both official and other- 
wise, that the Town and County Bank had stopped pay- 
ment. Miss Matty was ruined. 

She tried to* speak quietly to me; but when she came 


STOPPED PAYMENT 


235 


to the actual fact that she would have but about five 
shillings a week to live upon, she could not restrain a 
few tears. 

am not crying for myself, dear,’^ said she, wiping 
them away; believe I am crying for the very silly 
thought of how my mother would grieve if she could 
know — she always cared for us so much more than for 
herself. But many a poor person has less; and I am not 
very extravagant; and, thank God, when the neck of. 
mutton, and Martha’s wages, and the rent are paid, I 
have not a farthing owing. Poor Martha! I think 
she’ll be sorry to leave me.” 

Miss Matty smiled at me through her tears, and she 
would fain have had me see only the smile, not the tears. 


CHAPTER XIV 


FRIENDS IN NEED 

It was an example to me, and I fancy it might be to 
many others, to see how immediately Miss Matty set 
about the retrenchment which she knew to be right 
under her altered circumstances. While she went down 
to speak to Martha, and break the intelligence to her, I 
stole out with my letter to the Aga Jenkyns, and went 
to the Signoras lodgings to obtain the exact address. I 
boiind the Signora to secrecy; and indeed her military 
manners had a degree of shortness and reserve in them, 
which made her always say as little as possible, except 
when under the pressure of strong excitement. More- 
over (which made my secret doubly sure), the signor 
was now so far recovered as to be looking forward to 
travelling and conjuring again in the space of a few days, 
when he, his wife, and little Phoebe, would leave Cran- 
ford. Indeed, I found him looking over a great black 
and red placard, in which the Signor Brunoni^s accom- 
plishments were set forth, and to which only the name 
of the town where he would next display them was 
wanting. He and his wife were so much absorbed in 
deciding where the red letters would come in with most 
effect (it might have been the Rubric ^ for that matter), 
that it was some time before I could get my question 
236 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


237 


asked privately, and not before I had given several 
decisions, the wisdom of which I questioned afterwards 
with equal sincerity as soon as the signor threw in his 
doubts and reasons on the important subject. At last I 
got the address, spelled by sound; and very queer it 
looked! I dropped it in the post on my way home; and 
then for a minute I stood looking at the wooden pane, 
with a gaping slit, which divided me from the letter but 
a moment ago in my hand. It was gone from me like 
life — ^never to be recalled. It would get tossed about on 
the sea, and stained with sea-waves perhaps; and be 
carried among palm trees, and scented with all tropical 
fragance; the little piece of paper, but an hour ago so 
familiar and commonplace, had set out on its race to the 
strange wild countries beyond the Ganges! But I 
could not afford to lose much time on this speculation. 
I hastened home, that Miss Matty might not miss me. 
Martha opened the door to me, her face swollen with 
crying. As soon as she saw me, she burst out afresh, 
and taking hold of my arm she pulled me in, and banged 
the door to, in order to ask me if indeed it was all true 
that Miss Matty had been saying. 

^^1^11 never leave her! No! I won^t. I tolled her so, 
and said I could not think how she could find in her 
heart to give me warning. I could not have had the 
face to do it, if I^d been her. I might ha’ been just as 
good-for-nothing as Mrs. Fitz-Adam’s Rosy, who 
struck for wages after living seven years and a half in 
one place. I said I was not one to go and serve Mam- 
mon at that rate; that I knew when I’d got a good 


238 


CRANFORD 


missus, if she didn^t know when she’d got a good serv- 
ant — ” 

^^But Martha,” said I, cutting in while she wiped 
her eyes. 

^^Don’t ^but Martha’ me,” she replied to my dep- 
recatory tone. 

Listen to reason — ” 

^^I’ll not listen to reason,” she said, now in full posses- 
sion of her voice, which had been rather choked with 
sobbing. ^'Reason always means what some one else 
has got to say. Now I think what I’ve got to say is good 
enough reason. But, reason or not. I’ll say it, and I’ll 
stick to it. I’ve money in the Savings Bank, and I’ve 
a good stock of clothes, and I’m not going to leave Miss 
Matty. No! not if she gives me warning every hour in 
the day!” 

She put her arms akimbo, as much as to say she de- 
fied me; and, indeed, I could hardly tell how to begin to 
remonstrate with her, so much did I feel that Miss 
Matty, in her increasing infirmity, needed the attend- 
ance of this kind and faithful woman. 

^^Well!” said I, at last. 

^^I’m thankful you begin with ‘well!’ If you’d ha’ 
begun with ‘but,’ as you did afore, I’d not ha’ listened 
to you. Now you may go on.” 

“I know you would be a great loss to Miss Matty, 
Martha — ” 

“ I tolled her so. A loss she’d never cease to be sorry 
for,” broke in Martha triumphantly. 

“Still she will have so little — so very little, to live 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


239 


upon, that I don^t see just now how she could find you 
food — she will even be pressed for her own. I tell you 
this, Martha, because I feel you are like a friend to dear 
Miss Matty — but you know she might not like to have 
it spoken about.’’ 

Apparently this was even a blacker view of the subject 
than Miss Matty had presented to her; for Martha just 
sat down on the first chair that came to her hand, and 
cried out loud (we had been standing in the kitchen). 

At last she put her apron down, and looking me ear- 
nestly in the face, asked, ^^Was that the reason Miss 
Matty wouldn’t order a pudding to-day? She said she 
had no great fancy for sweet things, and you and she 
would just have a mutton chop. But I’ll be up to her. 
Never you tell, but I’ll make her a pudding, and a 
pudding she’ll like, too, and I’ll pay for it myself; so 
mind you see she eats it. Many a one has been com- 
forted in their sorrow by seeing a good dish come upon 
the table.” 

I was rather glad that Martha’s energy had taken the 
immediate and practical direction of pudding-making, 
for it staved off the quarrelsome discussion as to whether 
she should or should not leave Miss Matty’s service. 
She began to tie on a clean apron, and otherwise prepare 
herself for going to the shop for the butter, eggs, and 
what else she might require; she would not use a scrap 
of the articles already in the house for her cookery, but 
went to an old teapot in which her private store of 
money was deposited, and took out what she wanted. 

I found Miss Matty very quiet, and not a little sad; 


240 


CRANFORD 


but by-and-by she tried to smile for my sake. It was 
settled that I was to write to my father, and ask him to 
come over and hold a consultation; and as soon as this 
letter was dispatched, we began to talk over future 
plans. Miss Matty’s idea was to take a single room, 
and retain as much of her furniture as would be nec- 
essary to fit up this, and sell the rest; and there to 
quietly exist upon what would remain after paying the 
rent. For my part, I was more ambitious and less con- 
tented. I thought of all the things by which a woman, 
past middle age, and with the education common to 
ladies fifty years ago, could earn or add to a living, 
without materially losing caste; but at length I put even 
this last clause on one side, and wondered what in the 
world Miss Matty could do. 

Teaching was, of course, the first thing that suggested 
itself. If Miss Matty coiild teach children anything, it 
would throw her among the little elves in whom her soul 
delighted. I ran over her accomplishments. Once upon 
a time I had heard her say she could play, Ah! vous 
dirai-je, maman? ” ^ on the piano; but that was long, long 
ago; that faint shadow of musical acquirement had died 
out years before. She had also once been able to trace 
out patterns very nicely for muslin embroidery, by dint 
of placing a piece of silver-paper over the design to be 
copied, and holding both against the window-pane, 
while she marked the scallop and eyelet-holes. But 
that was her nearest approach to the accomplishment 
of drawing, and I did not think it would go very far. 
Then again as to the branches of a solid English educa- 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


241 


tion — fancy work and the use of the globes ^ — such as 
the mistress of the Ladies’ Seminary, to which all the 
tradespeople in Cranford sent their daughters, pro- 
fessed to teach; Miss Matty’s eyes were failing her, and 
I doubted if she could discover the number of threads 
in a worsted-work pattern, or rightly appreciate the 
different shades required for Queen Adelaide’s face, in 
the loyal woolwork now fashionable in Cranford. As 
for the use of the globes, I had never been able to find 
it out myself, so perhaps I was not a good judge of 
Miss Matty’s capability of instructing in this branch 
of education; but it struck me that equators and tropics, 
and such mystical circles, were very imaginary lines 
indeed to her, and that she looked upon the signs of the 
Zodiac as so many remnants of the Black Art. 

What she piqued herself upon, as arts in which she 
excelled, was making candle-lighters, or spills” (as she 
preferred calling them), of colored paper, cut so as to 
resemble feathers, and knitting garters in a variety of 
dainty stitches. I had once said, on receiving a present 
of an elaborate pair, that I should feel quite tempted to 
drop one of them in the street, in order to have it ad- 
mired; but I foimd this little joke (and it was a very 
little one) was such a distress to her sense of propriety, 
and was taken with such anxious, earnest alarm, lest 
the temptation might some day prove too strong for me, 
that I quite regretted having ventured upon it. A 
present of these delicately wrought garters, a bunch of 
gay spills,” or a set of cards on which sewing-silk was 
wound in a mystical manner, were the well-known 


242 


CRANFORD 


tokens of Miss Matty^s favor. But would any one pay 
to have their children taught these arts? or, indeed, 
would Miss Matty sell, for filthy lucre, the knack and 
the skill with which she made trifies of value to those 
who loved her? 

I had come down to reading, writing, and arithmetic; 
and, in reading the chapter every morning, she always 
coughed before coming to long words. I doubted her 
power of getting through a genealogical chapter, with 
any number of coughs. Writing she did well and 
delicately; but spelling! She seemed to think that the 
more out-of-the-way this was, and the more trouble it 
cost her, the greater the compliment she paid to her 
correspondent; and words that she would spell quite 
correctly in her letters to me, became perfect enigmas 
when she wrote to my father. 

No! there was nothing she could teach to the rising 
generation of Cranford; unless they had been quick 
learners and ready imitators of her patience, her humil- 
ity, her sweetness, her quiet contentment with all that 
she could not do. I pondered and pondered until 
dinner was announced by Martha, with a face all 
blubbered and swollen with crying. 

Miss Matty had a few little peculiarities, which 
Martha was apt to regard as whims below her attention, 
and appeared to consider as childish fancies, of which 
an old lady of fifty-eight should try and cure herself. 
But to-day everthing was attended to with the most 
careful regard. The bread was cut to the imaginary 
pattern of excellence ‘that existed in Miss Matty ^s mind 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


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as being the way which her mother had preferred; the 
curtain was drawn so as to exclude the dead-brick wall of 
a neighbor's stables, and yet left so as to show every 
tender leaf of the poplar which was bursting into 
spring beauty. Martha^s tone to Miss Matty was just 
such as that good, rough-spoken servant usually kept 
sacred for little children, and which I had never heard 
her use to any grown-up person. 

I had forgotten to tell Miss Matty about the pudding, 
and I was afraid she might not do justice to it; for she 
had evidently very little appetite this day; so I seized 
the opportunity of letting her into the secret while 
Martha 'took away the meat. Miss Matty ^s eyes filled 
with tears, and she could not speak, either to express 
surprise or delight, when Martha returned, bearing it 
aloft, made in the most wonderful representation of a 
lion couchant ^ that ever was moulded. Martha’s face 
gleamed with triumph, as she set it down before Miss 
Matty with an exultant There ! ” Miss Matty wanted 
to speak her thanks, but could not; so she took Martha’s 
hand and shook it warmly, which set Martha off crying, 
and I myself could hardly keep up the necessary com- 
posure. Martha burst out of the room; and Miss Matty 
had to clear her voice once or twice before she could 
speak. At last she said, should like to keep this 
pudding under a glass shade, my dear!” and the notion 
of the lion couchant with his currant eyes, being hoisted 
up to the place of honor on a mantel-piece, tickled my 
hysterical fancy, and I began to laugh, which rather 
surprised Miss Matty. 


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am sure, dear, I have seen uglier things under a 
glass shade before now,’^ said she. 

So had I, many a time and oft; and I accordingly 
composed my countenance (and now I could hardly 
keep from crying), and we both fell to upon the pudding, 
which was indeed excellent — only every morsel seemed 
to choke us, our hearts were so full. 

We had too much to think about to talk much that 
afternoon. It passed over very tranquilly. But when 
the tea-urn was brought in, a new thought came into 
my head. Why should not Miss Matty sell tea — be an 
agent to the East India Tea Company which then 
existed? I could see no objections to this plan, while 
the advantages were many — always supposing that 
Miss Matty could get over the degradation of conde- 
scending to anything like trade. Tea was neither greasy 
nor sticky — ^grease and stickiness being two of the 
qualities which Miss Matty could not endure. No 
shop window would be required. A small genteel 
notification of her being licensed to sell tea would, it is 
true, be necessary; but I hoped that it could be placed 
where no one could see it. Neither was tea a heavy 
article, so as to tax Miss Matty’s fragile strength. The 
only thing against my plan was the buying and selling 
involved. 

While I was giving but absent answers to the ques- 
tions Miss Matty was putting almost as absently, we 
heard a clumping sound on the stairs, and a whispering 
outside the door, which indeed once opened and shut 
as if by some invisible agency. After a little while, 


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Martha came in, dragging after her a great tall young 
man, all crimson with shyness, and finding his only 
relief in perpetually sleeking down his hair. 

Please, ma’am, he’s only Jem Hearn,” said Martha, 
by way of an introduction; and so out of breath was she, 
that I imagine she had some bodily struggle before she 
could overcome his reluctance to be presented on the 
courtly scene of Miss Matilda Jenkyns’s drawing-room. 

“And please, ma’am, he wants to marry me off hand. 
And please, ma’am, we want to take a lodger — ^just one 
quiet lodger, to make our two ends meet; and we’d take 
any house comformable; and oh, dear Miss Matty, if I 
may be so bold, would you have any objections to 
lodging with us? Jem wants it as much as I do.” (To 
Jem:) “You great oaf! why can’t you back me? But he 
does want it, all the same, very bad — don’t you, Jem? — 
only, you see, he’s dazed at being called on to speak 
before quality.” 

“It’s not that,” broke in Jem. “It’s that you’ve 
taken me all on a sudden, and I didn’t think for to get 
married so soon — and such quick work does flabbergast 
a man. It’s not that I’m against it, ma’am ” (addressing 
Miss Matty), “only Martha has such quick ways with 
her, when once she takes a thing into her head; and 
marriage, ma’am — marriage nails a man, as one may 
say. I dare say I sha’n’t mind it after it’s once over.” 

“Please, ma’am,” said Martha — ^who had plucked at 
his sleeve, and nudged him with her elbow, and other- 
wise tried to interrupt him all the time he had been 
speaking — “don’t mind him; he’ll come to; ’t was only 


246 


CRANFORD 


last night he was an-axing me, and an-axing me, and 
all the more because I said I could not think of it for 
years to come, and now he’s only taken aback with the 
suddenness of the joy! but you know, Jem, you are just 
as full as me about wanting a lodger.” (Another great 
nudge.) 

‘^Ay! if Miss Matty would lodge with us — otherwise 
I’ve no mind to be cumbered with strange folk in the 
house,” said Jem, with a want of tact which I could see 
enraged Martha, who was trying to represent a lodger 
as the great object they wished to obtain, and that, in 
fact. Miss Matty would be smoothing their path and 
conferring a favor if she would only come and live with 
them. 

Miss Matty herself was bewildered by the pair; their, 
or rather Martha’s sudden resolution in favor of matri- 
mony staggered her, and stood between her and the con- 
templation of the plan which Martha had at heart. 
Miss Matty began: 

Marriage is a very solemn thing, Martha.” 

^^It is indeed, ma’am,” quoth Jem. ^^Not that I’ve 
no objections to Martha.” 

You’ve never let me a-be for asking me for to fix 
when I would be married,” said Martha, her face all 
afire, and ready to cry with vexation, ^^and now you’re 
shaming me before my missus and all.” 

Nay, now ! Martha, don’t ee ! don’t ee I only a man 
likes to have breathing-time,” said Jem, trying to possess 
himself of her hand, but in vain. Then, seeing that she 
was more seriously hurt than he had imagined, he 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


247 


seemed to try to rally his scattered faculties, and with 
more straightforward dignity than, ten minutes before, 
I should have thought it possible for him to assume, he 
turned to Miss Matty, and said, hope, ma^am, you 
know that I am bound to respect every one who has 
been kind to Martha. I always looked on her as to be 
my wife — some time; and she has often and often 
spoken of you as the kindest lady that ever was; and 
though the plain truth is I would not like to be troubled 
with lodgers of the common run, yet if, ma^am, youM 
honor us by living with us, I^m sure Martha would do 
her best to make you comfortable; and I’d keep out of 
your way as much as I could, which I reckon would be the 
best kindness such an awkward chap as me could do.” 

Miss Matty had been very busy with taking off her 
spectacles, wiping them, and replacing them; but all she 
could say was, Don’t let any thought of me hurry you 
into marriage: pray don’t! Marriage is such a very 
solemn thing!” 

^^But Miss Matilda will think of your plan, Martha,” 
said I, struck with the advantages that it offered, and 
unwilling to lose the opportunity of considering about 
it. ^^And I’m sure neither she nor I can ever forget 
your kindness; nor yours either, Jem.” 

Why, yes, ma’am! I’m sure I mean kindly, though 
I’m a bit fluttered by being pushed straight ahead into 
matrimony, as it were, and mayn’t express myself con- 
formable. But I’m sure I’m willing enough, and give 
me time to get accustomed; so, Martha, wench, what’s 
the use of crying so, and slapping me if I come near?” 


248 


CRANFORD 


This last was sotto vocCy and had the effect of making 
Martha bounce out of the room, to be followed and 
soothed by her lover. Whereupon Miss Matty sat 
down and cried very heartily, and accounted for it by 
saying that the thought of Martha being married so 
soon gave her quite a shock, and that she should never 
forgive herself if she thought she was hurrying the poor 
creature. I think my pity was more for Jem, of the 
two; but both Miss Matty and I appreciated to the 
full the kindness of the honest couple, although we said 
little about this, and a good deal about chances and 
dangers of matrimony. 

The next morning, very early, I received a note from 
Miss Pole, so mysteriously wrapped up, and with so 
many seals on it to secure secrecy, that I had to tear 
the paper before I could unfold it. And when I came 
to the writing, I could hardly understand the meaning, 
it was so involved and oracular. I made out, however, 
that I was to go to Miss Pole’s at eleven o’clock; the 
number eleven being written in full length as well as in 
numerals, and A, M, twice dashed under, as if I were 
very likely to come at eleven at night, when all Cran- 
ford was usually abed and asleep by ten. There was no 
signature, except Miss Pole’s initials, reversed, P. E.; 
but as Martha had given me the note, ^Vith Miss 
Pole’s kind regards,” it needed no wizard to find out 
who sent it, and if the writer’s name was to be kept 
secret, it was very well that I was alone when Martha 
delivered it. 

I went, as requested, to Miss Pole’s. The door was 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


249 


opened to me by her little maid Lizzy in Sunday trim, as 
if some grand event was impending over this work-day. 
And the drawing-room upstairs was arranged in accord- 
ance with this idea. The table was set out with the best 
green card-cloth, and writing materials upon it. On the 
little chiffonier was a tray, with a newly-decanted 
bottle of cowslip wine, and some ladies ’-finger biscuits. 
Miss Pole herself was in solemn array, as if to receive 
visitors, although it was only eleven o’clock. Mrs. 
Forrester was there, crying quietly and sadly, and my 
arrival seemed only to call forth fresh tears. Before 
we had finished our greetings, performed with lugu- 
brious mystery of demeanor, there was another rat-tat- 
tat, and Mrs. Fitz-Adam appeared, crimson with walk- 
ing and excitement. It seemed as if this was all the 
company expected; for now Miss Pole made several 
demonstrations of being about to open the business of 
the meeting, by stirring the fire, opening and shutting 
the door, and coughing and blowing her nose. Then 
she arranged us all around the table, taking care to 
place me opposite to her; and last of all, she inquired of 
me if the sad report was true, as she feared it was, that 
Miss Matty had lost all her fortune? 

Of course I had but one answer to make; and I never 
saw more unaffected sorrow depicted on any counte- 
nances, than I did there on the three before me. 

I wish Mrs. Jamieson was here! ” said Mrs. Forrester 
at last; but, to judge from Mrs. Fitz-Adam’s face, she 
could not second the wish. 

^^But without Mrs. Jamieson,” said Miss Pole, with 


250 


CRANFORD 


just a sound of offended merit in her voice, ^^we, the 
ladies of Cranford, in my drawing-room assembled, can 
resolve upon something. I imagine we are none of us 
what may be called rich, though we all possess a genteel 
competency, sufficient for tastes that are elegant and 
refined, and would not, if they could, be vulgarly osten- 
tatious.’’ (Here I observed Miss Pole refer to a small 
card concealed in her hand, on which I imagine she had 
put down a few notes.) 

^^Miss Smith,” she continued, addressing me (famil- 
iarly known as “Mary” to all the company assembled, 
but this was a state occasion), “I have conversed in 
private — I made it my business to do so yesterday 
afternoon — ^with these ladies on the misfortune which 
,has happened to our friend — and one and all of us have 
agreed that, while we have a superfluity, it is not only 
a duty, but a pleasure — a true pleasure, Mary!” — her 
voice was rather choked just here, and she had to wipe 
her spectacles before she could go on — “to give what 
we can to assist her — Miss Matilda Jenkyns. Only, in 
consideration of the feelings of delicate independence 
existing in the mind of every refined female” — I was 
sure she had got back to the card now — “we wish to 
contribute our mites in a secret and concealed manner, 
so as not to hurt the feelings I have referred to. And 
our object in requesting you to meet us this morning is, 
that believing you are the daughter — that your father 
is, in fact, her confidential adviser in all pecuniary 
matters, we imagined that, by consulting with him, 
you might devise some mode in which our contributions 


PR1END3 m NEED 


251 


could be made to appear the legal due which Miss 

Matilda Jenkyns ought to receive from . Probably 

your father, knowing her investments, can fill up the 
blank/^ 

Miss Pole concluded her address, and looked round 
for approval and agreement. 

have expressed your meaning, ladies, have I not? 
And while Miss Smith considers what reply to make, 
allow me to offer you some little refreshment.^^ 

I had no great reply to make; I had more thankfulness 
at my heart for their kind thoughts than I cared to put 
into words; and so I only mumbled out something to 
the effect that I would name what Miss Pole had said 
to my father, and that if anything could be arranged for 
dear Miss Matty — ” and here I broke down utterly, and 
had to be refreshed with a glass of cowslip wine before 
I could check the crying which had been repressed for 
the last two or three days. The worst was, all the 
ladies cried in concert. Even Miss Pole cried, who had 
said a hundred times that to betray emotion before any 
one was a sign of weakness and want of self-control. She 
recovered herself into a slight degree of impatient anger, 
directed against me as having set them all off; and, 
moreover, I think she was vexed that I could not make 
a speech back in return for hers; and if I had known 
beforehand what was to be said, and had had a card on 
which to express the probable feelings that would rise 
in my heart, I would have tried to gratify her. As it 
was, Mrs. Forrester was the person to speak when we 
had recovered our composure. 


252 


CRANFORD 


don^t mind, among friends, stating that I — ^no! 
I^m not poor exactly, but I don’t think I’m w^iat you 
may call rich; I wish I were, for dear Miss Matty’s 
sake — but, if you please. I’ll write down, in a sealed 
paper, what I can give. I only wish it was more, my 
dear Mary, I do indeed.” 

Now I saw why paper, pens, and ink were provided. 
Every lady wrote down the sum she could give annually, 
signed the paper, and sealed it mysteriously. If their 
proposal was acceded to, my father was to be allowed 
to open the papers under a pledge of secrecy. If not, 
they were to be returned to their writers. 

When this ceremony had been gone through, I rose to 
depart; but each lady seemed to wish to have a private 
conference with me. Miss Pole kept me in the drawing- 
room to explain why, in Mrs. Jamieson’s absence, she 
had taken the lead in this ^'movement,” as she was 
pleased to call it, and also to inform me that she had 
heard from good sources that Mrs. Jamieson was coming 
home directly in a state of high displeasure against her 
sister-in-law, who was forthwith to leave her house; 
and was, she believed, to return to Edinburgh that very 
afternoon. Of course, this piece of intelligence could 
not be communicated before Mrs. Fitz-Adam, more 
especially as Miss Pole was inclined to think that Lady 
Glenmire’s engagement to Mr. Hoggins could not 
possibly hold against the blaze of Mrs. Jamieson’s dis- 
pleasure. A few hearty inquiries after Miss Matty’s 
health concluded my interview with Miss Pole. 

On coming downstairs, I found Mrs. Forrester wait- 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


253 


ing for me at the entrance to the dining-parlor. She 
drew me in, and when the door was shut, she tried two 
or three times to begin on some subject, which was so 
unapproachable apparently, that I began to despair of 
our ever getting to a clear understanding. At last out 
it came; the poor old lady trembling all the time as if it 
were a great crime which she was exposing to daylight 
in telling me how very, very little she had to live upon; 
a confession which she was brought to make from a 
dread lest we should think that the small contribution 
named in her paper bore any proportion to her love and 
regard for Miss Matty. And yet that sum which she 
so eagerly relinquished was, in truth, more than a 
twentieth part of what she had to live upon, and keep 
house, and a little serving-maid, all as became one born 
a Tyrrell. And when the whole income does not nearly 
amount to a hundred pounds, to give up a twentieth 
part of it will necessitate many careful economies, and 
many pieces of self-denial — small and insignificant, in 
the world’s account, but bearing a different value in 
another account-book that I have heard of. She did so 
wish she was rich, she said; and this wish she kept re- 
peating, with no thought of herself in it, only with a 
longing, yearning desire to be able to heap up Miss 
Matty’s measure of comforts. 

It was some time before I could console her enough to 
leave her; and then, on quitting the house, I was way- 
laid by Mrs. Fitz-Adam, who had also her confidence 
to make, of pretty nearly the opposite description. She 
had not liked to put down all that she could afford and 


254 


CRANFORD 


was ready to give. She told me she thought she never 
could look Miss Matty in the face again if she presumed 
to be giving her so much as she should like to do. 
^^Miss Matty/’ continued she, ^Hhat I thought was 
such a fine young lady, when I was nothing but a 
country girl, coming to market with eggs and butter, 
and such like things. For my father, though well to do, 
would always make me go on as my mother had done 
before me; and I had to come in to Cranford every 
Saturday and see after sales and prices, and what not. 
And one day, I remember, I met Miss Matty in the 
lane that leads to Combehurst; she was walking on the 
footpath, which, you know, is raised a good way above 
the road, and a gentleman rode beside her, and was 
talking to her, and she was looking down at some prim- 
roses she had gathered, and pulling them all to pieces, 
and I do believe she was crying. But after she had 
passed, she turned round and ran after me to ask — oh! 
so kindly — after my poor mother, who lay on her death- 
bed; and when I cried, she took hold of my hand to 
comfort me; and the gentleman waiting for her all the 
time; and the poor heart very full of something, I am 
sure; and I thought it such an honor to be spoken to in 
that pretty way by the rector’s daughter, who visited 
at Arley Hall. I have loved her ever since, though, 
perhaps, I’d no right to do it; but if you can think of any 
way in which I might be allowed to give a little more 
without any one knowing it, I should be so much 
obliged to you, my dear. And my brother would be 
delighted to doctor her for nothing — medicines, leeches, 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


255 


and all. I know that he and her ladyship — (my dear! 
I little thought in the days I was telling you of that I 
should ever come to be sister-in-law to a ladyship!) — • 
would do anything for her. We all would. 

I told her I was quite sure of it, and promised all sorts 
of things, in my anxiety to get home to Miss Matty, who 
might well be wondering what had become of me — ab- 
sent from her two hours without being able to account 
for it. She had taken very little note of time, however, 
as she had been occupied in numberless little arrange- 
ments preparatory to the great step of giving up her 
house. It was evidently a relief to her to be doing 
something in the way of retrenchment; for, as she said, 
whenever she paused to think, the recollection of the 
poor fellow with his bad five-pound note came over her, 
and she felt quite dishonest; only if it made her so un- 
comfortable, what must it not be doing to the directors 
of the bank, who must know so much more of the misery 
consequent upon this failure? She almost made me 
angry by dividing her sympathy between these directors 
(whom she imagined overwhelmed by self-reproach for 
the mismanagement of other people^s affairs) and those 
who were suffering like her. Indeed, of the two, she 
seemed to think poverty a lighter burden than self- 
reproach; but I privately doubted if the directors would 
agree with her. 

Old hoards were taken out and examined as to their 
money value, which luckily was small, or else I don^t 
know how Miss Matty would have prevailed upon her- 
self to part with such things as her mother^s wedding- 


256 


CRANFORD 


ring, the strange, uncouth brooch, with which her father 
had disfigured his shirt-frill, etc. However, we arranged 
things a little in order as to their pecuniary estimation, 
and were all ready for my father when he came the next 
morning. 

I am not going to weary you with the details of all the 
business we went through; and one reason for not 
telling about them is, that I did not understand what 
we were doing at the time; and cannot recollect it now. 
Miss Matty and I sat assenting to accounts, and 
schemes, and reports, and documents, of which I do not 
believe we either of us understood a word; for my 
father was clear-headed and decisive, and a capital man 
of business, and if we made the slightest inquiry, or 
expressed the slightest want of comprehension, he had 
a sharp way of saying, ^^Eh? eh? it’s as clear as daylight. 
What’s your objection?” And as we had not compre- 
hended anything of what he had proposed, we found it 
rather difficult to shape our objections; in fact we never 
were sure if we had any. So presently Miss Matty got 
into a nervously acquiescent state, and said, Yes,” and 
^'Certainly,” at every pause, whether required or not; 
but when I once joined in as chorus to a Decidedly,” 
pronounced by Miss Matty in a trembling dubious tone, 
my father fired round at me, and asked me ^'What 
there was to decide?” And I am sure, to this day, I 
have never known. But, in justice to him, I must say, 
he had come over from Drumble to help Miss Matty 
when he could ill spare the time, and when his own 
affairs were in a very anxious state. 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


257 


While Miss Matty was out of the room, giving orders 
for luncheon — and sadly perplexed between her desire 
of honoring my father by a delicate, dainty meal,, and 
her conviction that she had no right, now that all her 
money was gone, to indulge this desire — I told him of 
the meeting of the Cranford ladies at Miss Pole^s the 
day before. He kept brushing his hand before his eyes 
as I spoke; and when I went back to Martha^s offer the 
evening before, of receiving Miss Matty as a lodger, he 
fairly walked away from me to the window, and began 
drumming with his fingers upon it. Then he turned 
abruptly round, and said, ^^See, Mary, how a good 
innocent life makes friends all round. Confound it! 
I could make a good lesson out of it if I were a parson; 
but as it is, I canT get a tail to my sentences — only I^m 
sure you feel what I want to say. You and I will have 
a walk after lunch, and talk a bit more about these 
plans.^' 

The lunch — a hot, savory mutton chop, and a little 
of the cold lion sliced and fried — ^was now brought in. 
Every morsel of this last dish was finished, to Martha’s 
great gratification. Then my father bluntly told Miss 
Matty he wanted to talk to me alone, and that he would 
stroll out and see some of the old places, and then I 
could tell her what plan we thought desirable. Just 
before we went out, she called me back and said. 
Remember, dear, I’m the only one left — I mean there’s 
no one to be hurt by what I do. I’m willing to do any- 
thing that’s right and honest; and I don’t think, if 
Deborah knows where she is, she’ll care so very much 


258 


CRANFORD 


if I^m not genteel; because, you see, she’ll know all, 
dear. Only let me see what I can do, and pay the poor 
people as far as I’m able.” 

I gave her a hearty kiss, and ran after my father. 
The result of our conversation was this. If all parties 
were agreeable, Martha and Jem were to be married 
with as little delay as possible, and they were to hve on 
in Miss Matty’s present abode; the sum which the 
Cranford ladies had agreed to contribute annually being 
sufficient to meet the greater part of the rent, and leav- 
ing Martha free to appropriate what Miss Matty should 
pay for her lodgings to any little extra comforts re- 
quired. About the sale, my father was dubious at first. 
He said the old Rectory furniture, however carefully 
used, and reverently treated, would fetch very little; 
and that little would be but as a drop in the sea of the 
debts of the Town and County Bank. But when I 
represented how Miss Matty’s tender conscience would 
be soothed by feeling that she had done what she could, 
he gave way; especially after I had told him the five- 
pound-note adventure, and he had scolded me well for 
allowing it. I then alluded to my idea that she might 
add to her small income by selling tea; and, to my sur- 
prise (for I had nearly given up the plan), my father 
grasped at it with all the energy of a tradesman. I 
think he reckoned his chickens before they were hatched 
for he immediately ran up the profits of the sales that 
she could effect in Cranford to more than twenty pounds 
a year. The small dining-parlor was to be converted 
into a shop, without any of its degrading characteristics; 


FRIENDS IN NEED 


259 


a table was to be the counter; one window was to be 
retained unaltered, and the other changed into a glass 
door. I evidently rose in his estimation for having made 
this bright suggestion. I only hoped we should not 
both fall in Miss Matty’s. 

But she was patient and content with all our arrange- 
ments. She knew, she said, that we should do the best 
we could for her; and she only hoped, only stipulated, 
that she should pay every farthing that she could be 
said to owe, for her father’s sake, who had been so 
respected in Cranford. My father and I had agreed to 
say as little as possible about the bank — indeed, never 
to mention it again, if it could be helped. Some of the 
plans were evidently a little perplexing to her; but she 
had seen me sufficiently snubbed in the morning for 
want of comprehension to venture on too many in- 
quiries now; and all passed over well, with a hope on 
her part that no one would be hurried into marriage on 
her account. When we came to the proposal that she 
should sell tea, I could see it was rather a shock to her; 
not on account of any personal loss of gentility involved, 
but only because she distrusted her own powers of 
action in a new line of life, and would timidly have pre- 
ferred a little more privation to any exertion for which 
she feared she was unfitted. • However, when she saw 
my father was bent upon it, she sighed, and said she 
would try; and if she did not do well, of course she might 
give it up. One good thing about it was, she did not 
think men ever bought tea; and it was of men particu- 
larly she was afraid. They had such sharp, loud ways 


260 


CRANFORD 


with them; and did up accounts, and counted their 
change, so quickly! Now, if she might only sell 
comfits to children, she was sure she could please 
them! 


CHAPTER XV 


A HAPPY RETURN 

Before I left Miss Matty at Cranford everything had 
been comfortably arranged for her. Even Mrs. Jamie- 
son^s approval of her selling tea had been gained. That 
oracle had taken a few days to consider whether by so 
doing Miss Matty would forfeit her right to the priv- 
ileges of society in Cranford.- I think she had some little 
idea of mortifying Lady Glenmire by the decision she 
gave at last, which was to this effect: that whereas a 
married woman takes her husband^s rank by the strict 
laws of precedence, an unmarried woman retains the 
station her father occupied. So Cranford was allowed 
to visit Miss Matty; and, whether allowed or not, it 
intended to visit Lady Glenmire. 

But what was our surprise — our dismay — ^when we 
learned that Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins were returning on 
the following Tuesday. Mrs. Hoggins! Had she abso- 
lutely dropped her title, and so, in a spirit of bravado, 
cut the aristocracy to become a Hoggins? She, who 
might have been called Lady Glenmire to her dying day! 
Mrs. Jamieson was pleased. She said it only convinced 
her of what she had known from the first, that the 
creature had a low taste. But ^Hhe creature looked 
very happy on Sunday at Church; nor did we see it 
261 


262 


CRANFORD 


necessary to keep our veils down on that side of our 
bonnets on which Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins sat, as Mrs. 
Jamieson did; thereby missing all the smiling glory of 
his face, and all the becoming blushes of hers. I am 
not sure if Martha and Jem looked more radiant in the 
afternoon, when they too made their first appearance. 
Mrs. Jamieson soothed the turbulence of her soul, by 
having the blinds of her windows drawn down, as if for 
a funeral, on the day when Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins re- 
ceived callers; and it was with some difficulty that she 
was prevailed upon to continue the St, James's Chron- 
icle — so indignant was she with its having inserted the 
announcement of the marriage. 

Miss Matty^s sale went off famously. She retained 
the furniture of her sitting-room and bedroom; the 
former of which she was to occupy till Martha could 
meet with a lodger who might wish to take it; and into 
this sitting-room and bedroom she had to cram all 
sorts of things, which were (the auctioneer assured her) 
bought in for her at the sale by an unknown friend. I 
always suspected Mrs. Fitz-Adam of this; but she must 
have had an accessory, who knew what articles were 
particularly regarded by Miss Matty on account of 
their associations with her early days. The rest of the 
house looked rather bare, to be sure ; all except one tiny 
bedroom, of which my father allowed me to purchase 
the furniture for my occasional use, in case of Miss 
Matty^s illness. 

I had expended my own small store in buying all man- 
ner of comfits and lozenges, in order to tempt the little 


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263 


people, whom Miss Matty loved so much, to come about 
her. Tea in bright green canisters — and comfits in 
tumblers — Miss Matty and I felt quite proud as we 
looked round us on the evening before the shop was to 
be opened. Martha had scoured the boarded floor to a 
white cleanness, and it was adorned with a brilliant 
piece of oil-cloth, on which customers were to stand 
before the table-counter. The wholesome" smell of 
plaster and whitewash pervaded the apartment. A 
very small Matilda Jenkyns, licensed to sell tea,^’ was 
hidden under the lintel of the new door, and two boxes 
of tea, with cabalistic inscriptions all over them, stood 
ready to disgorge their contents into the canisters. 

Miss Matty, as I ought to have mentioned before, had 
had some scruples of conscience at selling tea when there 
was already Mr. Johnson in the town, who included it 
among his numerous commodities; and, before she could 
quite reconcile herself to the adoption of her new busi- 
ness, she had trotted down to his shop, unknown to me, 
to tell him of the project that was entertained, and to 
inquire if it was likely to injure his business. My father 
called this idea of hers ^'great nonsense,’^ and ^^won- 
dered how tradespeople were to get on if there was to be 
a continual consulting of each other^s interests, which 
would put a stop to all competition directly.’^ And 
perhaps it would not have done in Drumble, but in 
Cranford it answered very well; for not only did Mr. 
Johnson kindly put at rest Miss Matty^s scruples, and 
fear of injuring his business; but, I have reason to know, 
he repeatedly sent customers to her, saying that the 


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leas he kept were of a common kind, but that Miss 
Jenkyns had all the choice sorts. And expensive tea 
is a very favorite luxury with well-to-do tradespeople 
and rich farmers’ wives, who turn up their noses at the 
Congou and Souchong prevalent at many tables of 
gentility, and will have nothing else than Gunpowder 
and Pekoe for themselves. 

But to return to Miss Matty. It was really very 
pleasant to see how her unselfishness and simple sense 
of justice called out the same good qualities in others. 
She never seemed to think any one would impose upon 
her, because she should be so grieved to do it to them. 
I have heard her put a stop to the asseverations of the 
man who brought her coals, by quietly saying, am 
sure you would be sorry to bring me wrong weight;” 
and if the coals were short measure that time, I don’t 
believe they ever were again. People would have felt 
as much ashamed of presuming on her good faith as they 
would have done on that of a child. But my father 
says, ^^such simplicity might be very well in Cranford, 
but would never do in the world.” And I fancy the 
world must be very bad; for with all my father’s suspi- 
cion of every one with whom he has dealings, and in 
spite of all his many precautions, he lost upwards of a 
thousand pounds by roguery only last year. 

I just stayed long enough to establish Miss Matty in 
her new mode of life, and to pack up the library, which 
the rector had purchased. He had written a very kind 
letter to Miss Matty, saying ^^how glad he should be to 
take a library so well selected, as he knew that the late 


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265 


Mr. Jenkyns^s must have been, at any valuation put 
upon them.’’ And when she agreed to this, with a 
touch of sorrowful gladness that they would go back to 
the Rectory, and be arranged on the accustomed walls 
once more, he sent word that he feared that he had not 
room for them all, and perhaps Miss Matty would 
kindly allow him to leave some volumes on her shelves. 
But Miss Matty said that she had her Bible, and 
Johnson’s Dictionary, and should not have much time 
for reading, she was afraid. Still, I retained a few books 
out of consideration for the rector’s kindness. 

The money which he had paid, and that produced by 
the sale, was partly expended in the stock of tea, and 
part of it was invested against a rainy day; i. e., old age 
or illness. It was but a small sum, it is true; and it 
occasioned a few evasions of truth and white lies (all of 
which I think very wrong indeed — in theory — and 
would rather not put them in practice), for we knew 
Miss Matty would be perplexed as to her duty if she 
were aware of any little reserve fund being made for her 
while the debts of the bank remained unpaid. More- 
over, she had never been told of the way in which her 
friends were contributing to pay the rent. I should 
have liked to tell her this, but the mystery of the affair 
gave a piquancy to their deed of kindness which the 
ladies were unwilling to give up; and at first Martha 
had to shirk many a perplexed question as to her ways 
and means of living in such a house; but by and by 
Miss Matty’s prudent uneasiness sank down into 
acquiescence with the existing arrangement. 


266 


CRANFORD 


I left Miss Matty with a good heart. Her sales of tea 
during the first two days had surpassed my most san- 
guine expectations. The whole country round seemed 
to be all out of tea at once. The only alteration I could 
have desired in Miss Matty’s way of doing business 
was, that she should not have so plaintively entreated 
some of her customers not to buy green tea — running it 
down as slow poison, sure to destroy the nerves, and 
produce all manner of evil. Their pertinacity in taking 
it, in spite of all her warnings, distressed her so much 
that I really thought she would relinquish the sale of it, 
and so lose half her custom; and I was driven to my 
wits’ end for instances of longevity entirely attributable 
to a persevering use of green tea. But the final argu- 
ment, which settled the question, was a happy reference 
of mine to the train oil and Tallow candles which the 
Esquimaux not only enjoy but digest. After that she 
acknowledged that ^^one man’s meat might be another 
man’s poison,” and contented herself thenceforward 
with an occasional remonstrance, when she thought 
the purchaser was too young and innocent to be 
acquainted with the evil effects green tea produced 
on some constitutions; and an habitual sigh when 
people old enough to choose more wisely would pre- 
fer it. 

I went over from Drumble once a quarter at least, to 
settle the accounts and see after the necessary business 
letters. And, speaking of letters, I began to be very 
much ashamed of remembering my letter to the Aga 
Jenkyns, and very glad I had never named my writing 


A HAPPY RETURN 


267 


to any one. I only hoped the letter was lost. No 
answer came. No sign was made. 

About a year after Miss Matty set up shop, I re- 
ceived one of Martha^s hieroglyphics, begging me to 
come to Cranford very soon. I was afraid that Miss 
Matty was ill, and went off that very afternoon and 
took Martha by surprise when she saw me on opening 
the door. We went into the kitchen, as usual, to have 
our confidential conference; and then Martha told me 
she was expecting her confinement very soon — in a 
week or two; and she did not think Miss Matty was 
aware of it; and she wanted me to break the news to 
her; ^^for indeed, miss!’^ continued Martha, crying 
hysterically, ^^I^m afraid she won’t approve of it; and 
I’m sure I don’t know who is to take care of her as she 
should be taken care of when I’m laid up.” 

I comforted Martha by telling her I would remain till 
she was about again, and only wished she had told me 
her reason for this sudden summons, as then I would 
have brought the requisite stock of clothes. But 
Martha was so tearful and tender-spirited, and unlike 
her usual self, that I said as little as possible about my- 
self, and endeavored rather to comfort Martha under 
all the probable and possible misfortimes which came 
crowding upon her imagination. 

I then stole out of the house-door, and made my 
appearance, as if I were a customer, in the shop, just to 
take Miss Matty by surprise, and gain an idea of how 
she looked in her new situation. It was warm May 
weather, so only the little half-door was closed; and 


268 


CRANFORD 


Miss Matty sat behind her counter, knitting an elabo- 
rate pair of garters; elaborate they seemed to me, but 
the difficult stitch was no weight upon her mind, for 
she was singing in a low voice to herself as her needles 
went rapidly in and out. I call it singing, but I dare 
say a musician would not use that word to the tuneless 
yet sweet humming of the low worn voice. I found out 
from the words, far more than from the attempt at the 
tune, that it was the Old Hundredth ^ she was crooning 
to herself; but the quiet, continuous sound told of 
content, and gave me a pleasant feeling as I stood in the 
street just outside the door, quite in harmony with that 
soft May morning. I went in. At first she did not 
catch who it was, and stood up as if to serve me; but 
in another minute watchful pussy had clutched her 
knitting, which was dropped in her eager joy at seeing 
me. I found, after we had had a little conversation, 
that it was as Martha said, and that Miss Matty had 
no idea of the approaching household event. So I 
thought I would let things take their course, secure that 
when I went to her with the baby in my arms I should 
obtain that forgiveness for Martha which she was need- 
lessly frightening herself into believing that Miss Matty 
would withhold, under some notion that the new claim- 
ant would require attentions from its mother that it 
would be faithless treason to Miss Matty to render. 

But I was right. I think that must be an hereditary 
quality, for my father says he is scarcely ever wrong. 
One morning, within a week after I arrived, I went to 
call on Miss Matty, with a little bundle of flannel in my 


A HAPPY RETURN 


269 


arms. She was very much awestruck when I showed 
her what it was, and asked for her spectacles off the 
dressing-table, and looked at it curiously, with a sort 
of tender wonder at its small perfection of parts. She 
could not banish the thought of the surprise all day, 
but went about on tiptoe, and was very silent. But 
she stole up to see Martha, and they both cried with 
joy; and she got into a complimentary speech to Jem, 
and did not know how to get out of it again, and was 
only extricated from her dilemma by the sound of the 
shop-bell, which was an equal relief to the shy, proud, 
honest Jem, who shook my hand so vigorously when I 
congratulated him, that I think I feel the pain of it yet. 

I had a busy life while Martha was laid up. I 
attended on Miss Matty, and prepared her meals; I 
cast up her accounts, and examined into the state of 
her canisters and tumblers. I helped her, too, occasion- 
ally, in the shop; and it gave me no small amusement, 
and sometimes a little uneasiness, to watch her ways 
there. If a little child came in to ask for an ounce of 
almond comfits (and four of the large kind which Miss 
Matty sold weighed that much), she always added one 
more by ^^way of make-weight,’^ as she called it, al- 
though the scale was handsomely turned before; and 
when I remonstrated against this, her reply was, “The 
little things like it so much!” There was no use in 
telling her that the fifth comfit weighed a quarter of an 
ounce, and made every sale into a loss to her pocket. 
So I remembered the green tea, and winged my shaft 
with a feather out of her own plumage. I told her how 


270 


CRANFORD 


unwholesome almond comfits were; and how ill excess 
in them might make the little children. This argument 
produced some effect; for henceforward, instead of the 
fifth comfit, she always told them to hold out their tiny 
palms, into which she shook either peppermint or 
ginger lozenges, as a preventive to the dangers that 
might arise from the previous sale. Altogether, the 
lozenge trade, conducted on these principles, did not 
promise to be remunerative; but I was happy to find she 
had made more than twenty pounds during the last year 
by her sales of tea; and moreover, now that she was 
accustomed to it, she did not dislike the employment, 
which brought her into kindly intercourse with many 
of the people round about. If she gave them good 
weight, they, in their turn, brought many a little coun- 
try present to the ^^old rector’s daughter,” — a cream 
cheese, a few new-laid eggs, a little fresh ripe fruit, a 
bunch of flowers. The counter was quite loaded with 
these offerings sometimes, as she told me. 

As for Cranford in general, it was going on much as 
usual. The Jamieson and Hoggins feud still raged, if a 
feud it could be called, when only one side cared much 
about it. Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins were very happy to- 
gether; and, like most very happy people, quite ready 
to be friendly; indeed, Mrs. Hoggins was really desirous 
to be restored to Mrs. Jamieson’s good graces, because 
of the former intimacy. But Mrs. Jamieson considered 
their very happiness an insult to the Glenmire family, 
to which she had still the honor to belong, and she 
doggedly refused and rejected every advance. Mr. 


A HAPPY RETURN 


271 


Mulliner, like a faithful clansman, espoused his mis- 
tress’s side with ardor. If he saw either Mr. or Mrs. 
Hoggins, he would cross the street, and appear ab- 
sorbed in the contemplation of dife in general, and his 
own path in particular, until he had passed them by. 
Miss Pole used to amuse herself with wondering what 
in the world Mrs. Jamieson would do, if either she 
or Mr. Mulliner, or any other member of her household, 
was taken ill; she could hardly have the face to call in 
Mr. Hoggins after the way she had behaved to them. 
Miss Pole grew quite impatient for some indisposition 
or accident to befall Mrs. Jamieson or her dependents, 
in order that Cranford might see how she would act 
under the perplexing circumstances. 

Martha was beginning to go about again, and I had 
already fixed a limit, not very far distant, to my visit, 
when one afternoon, as I was sitting in the shop parlor 
with Miss Matty — I remember the weather was colder 
now than it had been in May, three weeks before, and 
we had a fire, and kept the door fully closed — ^we saw 
a gentleman go slowly past the window, and then stand 
opposite the door, as if looking out for the name which 
we had so carefully hidden. He took out a double eye- 
glass, and peered about for some time before he could 
discover it. Then he came in. And, all on a sudden, 
it flashed across me that it was the Aga himself! For 
his clothes had an out-of-the-way foreign cut about 
them, and his face was deep brown, as if tanned and re- 
tanned by the sun. His complexion contrasted oddly 
with his plentiful snow-white hair; his eyes were dark 


272 


CRANFORD 


and piercing, and he had an odd way of contracting 
them, and puckering up his cheeks into innumerable 
wrinkles when he looked earnestly at objects. He did 
so at Miss Matty when he came first in. His glance 
had first caught and lingered a little upon me; but then 
turned, with the peculiar searching look I have de- 
scribed, to Miss Matty. She was a little fiuttered and 
nervous, but no more so than she always was when any 
man came into her shop. She thought that he would 
probably have a note, or a sovereign at least, for which 
she would have to give change, which was an operation 
she very much disliked to perform. But the present 
customer stood opposite to her, without asking for 
anything, only looking fixedly at her as he drummed 
upon the table with his fingers, just for all the world as 
Miss Jenkyns used to do. Miss Matty was on the point 
of asking him what he wanted (as she told me after- 
ward), when he turned sharp to me: ^Hs your name 
Mary Smith? 

^^Yes,^’ said I. 

All my doubts as to his identity were set at rest; and I 
only wondered what he would say or do next, and how 
Miss Matty would stand the joyful shock of what he had 
to reveal. Apparently he was at a loss how to announce 
himself; for he looked round at last in search of some- 
thing to buy, so as to gain time; and, as it happened, his 
eye caught on the almond comfits; and he boldly asked 
for a pound of ^Hhose things.’^ I doubt if Miss Matty 
had a whole pound in the shop; and, besides the unusual 
magnitude of the order, she was distressed with the 


A HAPPY RETURN 


273 


idea of the indigestion they would produce, taken in 
such unlimited quantities. She looked up to remon- 
strate. Something of tender relaxation in his face 
struck home to her heart. She said, ^^It is — oh, sir! 
can you be Peter? ’’ and trembled from head to foot. In 
a moment he was round the table, and had her in his 
arms, sobbing the tearless cries of old age. I brought 
her a glass of wine; for, indeed, her color had changed 
so as to alarm me and Mr. Peter, too. He kept saying, 
“I have been too sudden for you, Matty — I have, my 
little girl.^^ 

I proposed that she should go at once up into the 
drawing-room and lie down on the sofa there. She 
looked wistfully at her brother, whose hand she had 
held tight, even when nearly fainting; but on his 
assuring her that he would ’not leave her, she allowed 
him to carry her upstairs. 

I thought that the best I could do was to run and put 
the kettle on the fire for early tea, and then to attend to 
the shop, leaving the brother and sister to exchange 
some of the many thousand things they must have to 
say. I had also to break the news to Martha, who re- 
ceived it with a burst of tears, which nearly infected me. 
She kept recovering herself to ask if I was sure it was 
indeed Miss Matty ^s brother; for I had mentioned that 
he had gray hair, and she had always heard that he was 
a very handsome young man. Something of the same 
kind perplexed Miss Matty at tea-time, when she was 
installed in the great easy-chair opposite to Mr. Jen- 
kyns^s in order to gaze her fill. She could hardly drink 


274 


CRANFORD 


for looking at him; and as for eating, that was out of 
the question. 

“I suppose hot climates age people very quickly, 
said she almost to herself. ^^When you left Cranford 
you had not a gray hair in your head.^^ 

“But how many years ago is that?’^ said Mr. Peter, 
smiling. 

“Ah! true! yes! I suppose you and I are getting old. 
But still I did not think we were so very old! But white 
hair is very becoming to you, Peter, she continued — a 
little afraid lest she had hurt him by revealing how his 
appearance had impressed her. 

“ I suppose I forgot dates, too, Matty, for what do you 
think I have brought for you from India? I have an. 
India muslin gown and a pearl necklace for you some- 
where in my chest at Portsmouth.” He smiled as 
if amused at the idea of the incongruity of his presents 
with the appearance of his sister; but this did not strike 
her all at once, while the elegance of the articles did. I 
could see that for a moment her imagination dwelt com- 
placently on the idea of herself thus attired; and in- 
stinctively she put her hand up to her throat — that little 
delicate throat, which (as Miss Pole had told me) had 
been one of her youthful charms; but the hand met the 
touch of folds of soft muslin, in which she was always 
swathed up to her chin; and the sensation recalled a 
sense of the imsuitableness of a pearl necklace to her 
age. She said: “I’m afraid I’m too old; but it was very 
kind of you to think of it. They are just what I should 
have liked years ago — ^when I was young!” 


A HAPPY RETURN 


275 


I thought, my little Matty. I remembered your 
tastes — they were so like my dear mother^s.’^ At the 
mention of that name, the brother and sister clasped 
each other^s hands yet more fondly; and although they 
were perfectly silent, I fancied they might have some- 
thing to say if they were unchecked by my presence, 
and I got up to arrange my room for Mr. Peter’s occupa- 
tion that night, intending myself to share Miss Matty’s 
bed. But at my movement he started up. I must go 
and settle about a room at the George. My carpet-bag 
is there too.” 

“No!” said Miss Matty, in great distress — “you 
must not go; please, dear Peter — pray, Mary — oh! you 
must not go!” 

She was so much agitated that we both promised 
everything she wished. Peter sat down again, and gave 
her his hand, which for better security she held in both 
of hers, and I left the room to accomplish my arrange- 
ments. 

Long, long into the night, far, far into the morning, 
did Miss Matty and I talk. She had much to tell me of 
her brother’s life and adventures which he had com- 
municated to her, as they had sat alone. She said that 
all was thoroughly clear to her; but I never quite under- 
stood the whole story; and when in after days I lost 
my awe of Mr. Peter enough to question him myself, 
he laughed at my curiosity, and told me stories that 
sounded so very much like Baron Munchausen’s ^ that 
I was sure he was making fun of me. What I heard 
from Miss Matty was, that he had been a volunteer at 


276 


CRANFORD 


the siege of Rangoon; had been taken prisoner by the 
Burmese; had somehow obtained favor and eventual 
freedom from knowing how to bleed the chief of the 
small tribe in some case of dangerous illness; that, on 
his release from years of captivity, he had had his 
letters returned from England with the ominous word 
^‘Dead’’ marked upon them; and believing himself to 
be the last of his race, he had settled down as an indigo 
planter, and had proposed to spend the remainder of his 
life in the country to whose inhabitants and modes of 
life he had become habituated, when my letter had 
reached him; and with the odd vehemence which 
characterized him in age as it had done in youth, he 
had sold his land and all his possessions to the first 
purchaser, and come home to the poor old sister, who 
was more glad and rich than any princess when she 
looked at him. She talked me to sleep at last, and then 
I was awakened by a slight sound at the door, for which 
she begged my pardon as she crept penitently into bed; 
but it seems that when I could no longer confirm her 
belief that the long-lost was really here — under the 
same roof — she had begun to fear lest it was only a 
waking dream of hers; that there never had been a 
Peter sitting by her all that blessed evening, but that 
the real Peter lay dead far away beneath some wild sea- 
wave, or under some strange Eastern tree. And so 
strong had this nervous feeling of hers become, that 
she was fain to get up, and go and convince herself that 
he was really there by listening through the door to his 
even, regular breathing — I don^t like to call it snoring, 


A HAPPY RETURN 


277 


but I heard it myself through two closed doors — and by 
and by it soothed Miss Matty to sleep. 

I don^t believe Mr. Peter came home from India as 
rich as a nabob; he even considered himself poor; but 
neither he nor Miss Matty cared much about that. At 
any rate, he had enough to live upon ^^very genteelly’^ 
at Cranford — he and Miss Matty together. And a day 
or two after his arrival the shop was closed, while troops 
of little urchins gleefully awaited the showers of comfits 
and lozenges that came from time to time down upon 
their faces as they stood up-gazing at Miss Matty^s 
drawing-room windows. Occasionally Miss Matty 
would say to them (half hidden behind the curtains), 
^^My dear children, don’t make yourselves ill;” but a 
strong arm pulled her back, and a more rattling shower 
than ever succeeded. A part of the tea was sent in 
presents to the Cranford ladies; and some of it was dis- 
tributed among the old people who remembered Mr. 
Peter in the days of his frolicsome youth. The India 
muslin gown was reserved for darling Flora Gordon 
(Miss Jessie Brown’s daughter) . The Gordons had been 
on the Continent for the last few years, but were now 
expected to return very soon; and Miss Matty, in her 
sisterly pride, anticipated great delight in the joy of 
showing them Mr. Peter. The pearl necklace dis- 
appeared; and about that time many handsome and 
useful presents made their appearance in the households 
of Miss Pole and Mrs. Forrester; and some rare and 
delicate Indian ornaments graced the drawing-rooms 
of Mrs. Jamieson and Mrs. Fitz-Adam. I myself was 


278 


CRANFORD 


not forgotten. Among other things I had the hand- 
somest bound and best edition of Dr. Johnson^s works 
that could be procured; and dear Miss Matty, with 
tears in her eyes, begged me to consider it as a present 
from her sister as well as herself. In short, no one was 
forgotten, and, what was more, every one, however 
insignificant, who had shown kindness to Miss Matty at 
any time, was sure of Mr. Peter^s cordial regard. 


CHAPTER XVI 


PEACE TO CRANFORD 

It was not surprising that Mr. Peter became such a 
favorite at Cranford. The ladies vied with each other 
who should admire him most; and no wonder; for their 
quiet lives were astonishingly stirred up by the arrival 
from India — especially as the person arrived told more 
wonderful stories than Sindbad the Sailor; and, as Miss 
Pole said, was quite as good as an Arabian Night any 
evening. For my own part, I had vibrated all my life 
between Drumble and Cranford, and I thought it was 
quite possible that all Mr. Peter’s stories might be true, 
although wonderful; but when I found that if we swal- 
lowed an anecdote of tolerable magnitude one week, we 
had the dose considerably increased the next, I began to 
have my doubts; especially as I noticed that when his 
sister was present the accounts of Indian life were com- 
paratively tame; not that she knew more than we did, 
perhaps less. I noticed, also, that when the rector came 
to call, Mr. Peter talked in a different way about the 
countries he had been in. But I don’t think the ladies 
in Cranford would have considered him such a wonder- 
ful traveller if they had only heard him talk in the 
quiet way he did to him. They liked him the better, 
indeed, for being what they called ‘^so very Oriental.” 

279 


280 


CRANFORD 


One day, at a select party in his honor, which Miss 
Pole gave, and from which, as Mrs. Jamieson honored 
it with her presence, and had even offered to send Mr. 
Mulliner to wait, Mr. and Mrs. Hoggins and Mrs. 
Fit z- Adam were necessarily excluded — one day at 
Miss Pole’s Mr. Peter said he was tired of sitting up- 
right against the hardbacked uneasy chairs, and asked 
if he might not indulge himself in sitting cross-legged. 
Miss Pole’s consent was eagerly given, and down he 
went with the utmost gravity. But when Miss Pole 
asked me, in an audible whisper, ^^if he did not remind 
me of the Father of the Faithful,” ^ I could not help 
thinking of poor Simon Jones, the lame tailor; and while 
Mrs. Jamieson slowly commented on the elegance and 
convenience of the attitude, I remembered how we had 
all followed that lady’s lead in condemning Mr. Hoggins 
for vulgarity because he simply crossed his legs as he 
sat still on his chair. Many of Mr. Peter’s ways of 
eating were a little strange among such ladies as Miss 
Pole, and Miss Matty, and Mrs. Jamieson, especially 
when I recollected the untasted green peas and two- 
pronged forks at poor Mr. Holbrook’s dinner. 

The mention of that gentleman’s name recalls to my 
mind a conversation between Mr. Peter and Miss 
Matty one evening in the summer after he returned to 
Cranford. The day had been very hot, and Miss Matty 
had been much oppressed by the weather, in the heat 
of which her brother revelled. I remember that she had 
been unable to nurse Martha’s baby, which had become 
her favorite employment of late, and which was as much 


PEACE TO CRANFORD 


281 


at home in her arms as in its mother^s, as long as it re- 
mained a light weight — portable by one so fragile as 
Miss Matty. This day to which I refer, Miss Matty had 
seemed more than usuallyfeeble and languid, and only re- 
vived when the sun went do^vn, and her sofa was wheeled 
to the open window, through which, although it looked 
into the principal street of Cranford, the fragrant smell 
of neighboring hay-fields came in every now and then, 
borne by the soft breezes that stirred the dull air of 
summer twilight, and then died away. The silence of 
the sultry atmosphere was lost in the murmuring noises 
which came in from many an open window and door; 
even the children were abroad in the street, late as it 
was (between ten and eleven), enjoying the game of 
play for which they had not had spirits during the heat 
of the day. It was a source of satisfaction to Miss 
Matty to see how few candles were lighted even in the 
apartments of those houses from which issued the 
greatest signs of life. Mr. Peter, Miss Matty, and I had 
all been quiet, each with a separate revery, for some 
little time, when Mr. Peter broke in — 

Do you know, little Matty, I could have sworn you 
were on the high road to matrimony when I left England 
that last time? If anybody had told me you would have 
lived and died an old maid then, I should have laughed 
in their faces. 

Miss Matty made no reply; and I tried in vain to 
think of some subject which should effectually turn the 
conversation; but I was very stupid; and before I spoke, 
he went on: 


282 


CRANFORD 


was Holbrook — that fine, manly fellow, who lived 
at Woodley, that I used to think would carry off my 
little Matty. You would not think it now, I dare say, 
Mary! but this sister of mine was once a very pretty 
girl — at least I thought so; and so IVe a notion did poor 
Holbrook. What business had he to die before I came 
home to thank him for all his kindness to a good-for- 
nothing cub as I was? It was that that made me first 
think he cared for you; for in all our fishing expeditions, 
it was Matty, Matty, we talked about. Poor Deborah! 
What a lecture she read me on having asked him home 
to lunch one day, when she had seen the Arley carriage 
in town, and thought that my lady might call. Well, 
that^s long years ago; more than half a lifetime! and 
yet it seems like yesterday! I don’t know a fellow I 
should have liked better as a brother-in-law. You must 
have played your cards badly, my little Matty, some- 
how or another — ^wanted your brother to be a good go- 
between, eh! little one?” said he, putting out his hand 
to take hold of hers as she lay on the sofa — ^^Why, 
what’s this? you’re shivering and shaking, Matty, with 
that confounded open window. Shut it, Mary, this 
minute!” 

I did so, and then stooped down to kiss Miss Matty, 
and see if she really were chilled. She caught at my 
hand, and gave it a hard squeeze — but unconsciously, 
I think — ^for in a minute or two she spoke to us quite 
in her usual voice, and smiled our uneasiness away, 
although she patiently submitted to the prescriptions 
we enforced of a warmed bed and a glass of weak negus. 


PEACE TO CRANFORD 


283 


I was to leave Cranford the next day, and before I went 
I saw that all the effects of the open window had quite 
vanished. I had superintended most of the alterations 
necessary in the house and household during the latter 
weeks of my stay. The shop was once more a parlor; 
the empty resounding rooms again furnished up to the 
very garrets. 

There had been some talk of establishing Martha and 
Jem in another house; but Miss Matty would not hear to 
this. Indeed, I never saw her so much roused as when 
Miss Pole had assumed it to be the most desirable 
arrangement. As long as Martha would remain with 
Miss Matty, Miss Matty was only too thankful to have 
her about her; yes, and Jem, too, who was a very pleas- 
ant man to have in the house, for she never saw him 
from week’s end to week’s end. And as for the probable 
children, if they would all turn out such little darlings 
as her god-daughter Matilda, she should not mind the 
number, if Martha didn’t. Besides, the next was to be 
called Deborah; a point which Miss Matty had reluc- 
tantly yielded to Martha’s stubborn determination that 
her first-born was to be Matilda. So Miss Pole had to 
lower her colors, and even her voice, as she said to me 
that as Mr. and Mrs. Hearn were still to go on living 
in the same house with Miss Matty, we had certainly 
done a wise thing in hiring Martha’s niece as an auxil- 
iary. 

I left Miss Matty and Mr. Peter most comfortable 
and contented; the only subject for regret to the tender 
heart of the one and the social friendly nature of the 


284 


CRANFORD 


other being the unfortunate quarrel between Mrs. 
Jamieson and the plebian Hogginses and their following. 
In joke I prophesied one day that this would only last 
until Mrs. Jamieson or Mr. Mulliner were ill, in which 
case they would only be too glad to be friends with Mr. 
Hoggins; but Miss Matty did not like my looking for- 
ward to anything like illness in so light a manner; and, 
before the year was out, all had come round in a far 
more satisfactory way. 

I received two Cranford letters on one auspicious 
October morning. Both Miss Pole and Miss Matty 
wrote to ask me to come over and meet the Gordons, 
who had returned to England alive and well, with their 
two children now almost grown up. Dear Jessie Brown 
had kept her old kind nature, although she had changed 
her name and station; and she wrote to say that she 
and Major Gordon expected to be in Cranford on the 
fourteenth, and she hoped and begged to be remembered 
to Mrs. Jamieson (named first, as became her honorable 
station), Miss Pole, and Miss Matty — could she ever 
forget their kindness to her poor father and sister? — 
Mrs. Forrester, Mr. Hoggins (and here again came in an 
allusion to kindness shown to the dead long ago), his 
new wife, who, as such, must allow Mrs. Gordon to 
desire to make her acquaintance, and who was, more- 
over, an old Scotch friend of her husband’s. In short, 
every one was named, from the rector — who had been 
appointed to Cranford in the interim between Captain 
Brown’s death and Miss Jessie’s marriage, and was now 
associated with the latter event — down to Miss Betty 


PEACE TO CRANFORD 


285 


Barker : all were asked to the luncheon — all except Mrs. 
Fitz-Adam, who had come to live in Cranford since 
Miss Jessie Brownes days, and whom I found rather 
moping on account of the omission. People wondered 
at Miss Betty Barker’s being included in the honorable 
list; but then, as Miss Pole said, we must remember the 
disregard of the genteel proprieties of life in which the 
poor captain had educated his girls; and for his sake 
we swallowed our pride; indeed, Mrs. Jamieson rather 
took it as a compliment, as putting Miss Betty (form- 
erly her maid) on a level with “those Hogginses.” 

But when I arrived in Cranford nothing was as yet 
ascertained of Mrs. Jamieson’s own intentions; would 
the honorable lady go, or would she not? Mr. Peter 
declared that she should and she would; Miss Pole 
shook her head, and desponded. But Mr. Peter was a 
man of resources. In the first place, he persuaded Miss 
Matty to write to Mrs. Gordon, and to tell her of Mrs. 
Fitz-Adam’s existence, and to beg that one so kind, and 
cordial, and generous, might be included in the pleasant 
invitation. An answer came back by return of post, 
with a pretty little note for Mrs. Fitz-Adam, and a 
request that Miss Matty would deliver it herself, and 
explain the previous omission. Mrs. Fitz-Adam was as 
pleased as could be, and thanked Miss Matty over and 
over again. Mr. Peter had said, “Leave Mrs. Jamieson 
to me;” so we did; especially as we knew nothing that 
we could do to alter her determination, if once formed. 

I did not know, nor did Miss Matty, how things were 
going on, until Miss Pole asked me, just the day before 


286 


CRANFORD 


Mrs. Gordon came, if I thought there was anything be- 
tween Mr. Peter and Mrs. Jamieson in the matrimonial 
line, for that Mrs. Jamieson was really going to the 
lunch at the George. She had sent Mr. Mulliner down 
to desire that there might be a footstool put to the 
warmest seat in the room, as she meant to come, and 
knew that their chairs were very high. Miss Pole had 
picked this piece of news up, and from it she conjectured 
all sorts of things, and bemoaned yet more. ^^If Peter 
should marry, what would become of poor dear Miss 
Matty! And Mrs. Jamieson of all people. Miss Pole 
seemed to think there were other ladies in Cranford 
who would have done more credit to his choice, and I 
think she must have had some one who was unmarried 
in her head, for she kept saying, ^^It was so wanting in 
delicacy in a widow to think of such a thing.’^ 

When I got back to Miss Matty^s, I really did begin 
to think that Mr. Peter might be thinking of Mrs. 
Jamieson for a wife; and I was as unhappy as Miss Pole 
about it. He had the proof-sheet of a great placard in 
his hand — Signor Brunoni, Magician to the King of 
Delhi, the Rajah of Oude, and the Great Lama of 
Thibet, etc., etc.,’^ was going to perform in Cranford 
for one night only’^ — the very next night; and Miss 
Matty, exultant, showed me a letter from the Gordons 
promising to remain over this gayety, which Miss 
Matty said was entirely Peter^s doing. He had written 
to ask the Signor to come, and was to be at all the ex- 
penses of the affair. Tickets were to be sent gratis to 
as many as the room would hold. In short, Miss Matty 


PEACE TO CRANFORD 


287 


was charmed with the plan, and said that to-morrow 
Cranford would remind her of the Preston Guild, ^ to 
which she had been in her youth — a luncheon at the 
George, with the dear Gordons, and the Signor in the 
Assembly-room in the evening. But! — I looked only 
at the fatal words: 

Under the Patronage of the Honorable Mrs. Jamie- 
son.’’ 

She, then, was chosen to preside over this entertain- 
ment of Mr. Peter’s; she was perhaps going to displace 
my dear Miss Matty in his heart, and make her life 
lonely once more! I could not look forward to the 
morrow with any pleasure; and every innocent antici- 
pation of Miss Matty’s only served to add to my 
annoyance. 

So, angry and irritated, and exaggerating every little 
incident which could add to my irritation, I went on till 
we were all assembled in the great parlor at the George. 
Major and Mrs. Gordon, and pretty Flora, and Mr. 
Ludovic, were all as bright, and handsome, and friendly 
as could be; but I could hardly attend to them for watch- 
ing Mr. Peter, and I saw that Miss Pole was equally 
busy. I had never seen Mrs. Jamieson so roused and 
animated before; her face looked full of interest in what 
Mr. Peter was saying. I drew near to listen. My relief 
was great when I caught that his words were not words 
of love, but that, for all his grave face, he was at his old 
tricks. He was telling her of his travels in India, and 
describing the wonderful height of the Himalaya Moun- 
tains; one touch after another added to their size and 


288 


CRANFORD 


each exceeded the former in absurdity; but Mrs. Jamie- 
son really enjoyed all in perfect good faith. I suppose she 
required strong stimulants to excite her to come out of 
her apathy. Mr. Peter wound up his account by saying 
that, of course, at that altitude there were none of the 
animals to be found that existed in the lower regions; 
the game — everything was different. Firing one day at 
some flying creature, he was very much dismayed, when 
it fell, to find that he had shot a cherubim! Mr. Peter 
caught my eye at this moment, and gave me such a 
funny twinkle, that I felt sure he had no thoughts of 
Mrs. Jamieson as a wife, from that time. She looked 
uncomfortably amazed: 

“But, Mr. Peter — shooting a cherubim — don^t you 
think — I am afraid that was sacrilege!’^ 

Mr. Peter composed his countenance in a moment, 
and appeared shocked at the idea, which, as he said 
truly enough, was now presented to him for the first 
time; but then Mrs. Jamieson must remember that he 
had been living for a long time among savages — all of 
whom were heathens — some of them, he was afraid, 
were downright Dissenters. Then, seeing Miss Matty 
draw near, he hastily changed the conversation, and 
after a little while, turning to me, he said, “Don’t be 
shocked, prim little Mary, at all my wonderful stories; 
I consider Mrs. Jamieson fair game, and besides, I am 
bent on propitiating her, and the first step towards it is 
keeping her well awake. I bribed her here by asking 
her to let me have her name as patroness for my poor 
conjurer this evening; and I don’t want to give her time 


PEACE TO CRANFORD 


289 


i 

enough to get up her rancor against the Hogginses, who 
I are just coming in. I want everybody to be friends, for 
it harasses Matty so much to hear of these quarrels. I 
I shall go at it again by and by, so you need not look 
, shocked. I intend to enter the Assembly-room to-night 
! with Mrs. Jamieson on one side, and my lady, Mrs. 

' Hoggins, on the other. You see if I don’t.^’ 

Somehow or another he did, and fairly got them into 
conversation together. Major and Mrs. Gordon helped 
I at the good work, with their perfect ignorance of any 
existing coolness between any of the inhabitants of 
Cranford. 

Ever since that day there has been the old friendly 
sociability in Cranford society; which I am thankful for, 
because of my dear Miss Matty^s love of peace and 
kindliness. We all love Miss Matty, and I somehow 
think we are all of us better when she is near us. 




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NOTES 


27, 1. Amazons. An ancient legendary nation of female 
warriors, said to have lived in Pontus near the shore of the Black 
Sea. This classic name is applied to the inhabitants of Cranford 
with something of seriousness and something more of satire, for 
they were all ladies sufficient unto themselves without the pres- 
ence of men, yet proud of being timid and essentially feminine. 

2. Drumble. A fictitious name for Manchester, the chief 
cotton-spinning center in England. 

28, 1. Miss Tyler. An aunt of the poet, Robert Southey, 
who in writing of his childhood, describes his aunt^s almost reli- 
gious devotion to cleanliness. 

2. Gigot. A sleeve tight from the hand to the elbow with 
considerable fulness gathered into a tight armhole; often called, 
from its shape, a leg-of-mutton sleeve. 

29, 1. Red silk umbrella. An umbrella was kept in each 
coffee house early in the eighteenth century, but the use of um- 
brellas by individuals was still rare in 1786. 

2. Manx laws. Manx is a name for the people of the Isle of 
Man, in the Irish Sea, where many old customs linger. Tinwald 
Mount was the meeting place of the ancient Manx parliament 
and court of justice, and here on each July fifth, the laws passed 
during the preceding year are still ceremoniously proclaimed. 

30, 1. Esprit de corps. The spirit of enthusiasm and loyalty 
animating a group of people. A French phrase from the Latin 
words spiritus, spirit, and corpus^ body. 

31, 1. Pattens. Separate wooden soles which were attached 
to shoes to protect them from the mud. 

32, 1. Half-pay captain. A captain retired on half pay. 

291 


292 


NOTES 


2. Sent to Coventry. Excluded from society. The expres- 
sion is said to have originated during the struggle between the 
Puritans and the Cavaliers. Coventry was a town in Warwick- 
shire held by the Puritans, and there many of them took refuge 
when the Cavalier party began to regain power. To the Cava- 
liers, who scorned the Puritans and all their ways, to be sent to 
such a Puritan center as Coventry was equivalent to ostracism. 

3. Sedan-chairs. An enclosed chair on cross poles, carried 
through the streets by four chairmen. 

38, 1. Jock of Hazeldean. A song, the words of which were 
adapted by Sir Walter Scott from an old ballad. 

39, 1. The Pickwick Papers, like many of Dickenses novels, 
appeared serially. When the first number of Cranford was pub- 
lished in Household WordSj of which Dickens was editor, he 
changed all of these allusions so that they referred to the writings 
of Thomas Hood. 

40, 1. Swarry. A word corrupted from the French soiree^ 
meaning an evening party. See Pickwick Papers, Ch. XXXVI. 

2. Rasselas was a romance by Dr. Johnson telling of the futile 
search of an Abyssinian prince after happiness. Johnson was 
the great hterary dictator of the middle eighteenth century. 
The Rambler (1749-^52) was a periodical on the order of Addison’s 
Spectator Papers. Johnson’s style is pompous and heavy, over- 
weighted with long words of Latin derivation. 

3. Mr. Boz. A pen name of Dickens, originally a nickname 
applied by him to his younger brother. 

41, 1. Sotto voce. In an undertone. An Italian phrase from 
the Latin sub, under, and voce, ablative of vox, voice. 

44, 1. Brutus wig. A French style of dressing the hair in 
imitation of Roman antiquity, named from the great Roman 
patriot, Brutus. The hair was brushed back from the forehead 
and, in the early days of the mode, worn in disorder; later it was 
arranged in close curls. 

45, 1. Au fait. Informed, up to date. A French phrase from 
the Latin ad, to, and factum, fact, deed. 

2. The Hebrew prophetess. See Judges IV and V. 


NOTES 


293 


46, 1. Plumed wars. Refers to Shakespeare’s lines: 

Farewell the plumed troop and the big wars 

That make ambition virtue. 

Othello III, iii, 349 

2. Brunonian. An adjective, derived from Brunonia, the Latin 
equivalent of Brown, after the manner of Dr. Johnson, whose 
style this whole passage imitates. 

47, 1. The feast of reason and the flow of soul. Quoted from 

There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl, 

The feast of reason and the flow of soul. 

Pope: Satires I, ii, 127 

2. The pure wells of English undefiled. Quoted from 

Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled, 

On Fame’s eternal beadroll worthie to be fyled. 

Spenser; Faerie Queene IV, ii, 32 

60, 1. Galignani. An English newspaper published in Paris; 
very popular among English travelers on the Continent. 

62, 1. Old Poz. A play given by children, written by Maria 
Edgeworth. Evidently confused by Miss Deborah’s failing wits 
with Dickens’s pen name, Boz. 

63, 1. Hortus siccus. A dried garden. Latin. 

69, 1. Army List. A publication giving the location of regi- 
ments and the names of their officers. 

71, 1. Leave me, leave me to repose. Quoted from Gray’s 
The Descent of Odin. 

72, 1. Pride which apes humility. Quoted from 

He saw a cottage with a double coach-house, 

A cottage of gentility! 

And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin 
Is pride that apes humility. 

Coleridge: Devil's Thoughts, 6 

74, 1. Mousseline de laine. A many-colored printed dress 
fabric of wool. 

2. Don-Quixote-looking. Don Quixote is the hero of a Spanish 


294 


NOTES 


mock heroic romance written by Cervantes; it has been translated 
into all languages. 

3. Sarcenet. A fine thin silk. 

76, 1. Fly. A light traveling carriage. 

78.1. George Herbert. A seventeenth century poet who wrote 
chiefly religious poems. 

2. Byron. A celebrated English poet of the early nineteenth 
century. 

3. Goethe. A philosopher and poet, the most famous of all 
German writers. The line in the text is quoted from Faust I, 
XXI, 3944: Ewig grune Paldste. 

4. Turkey carpet. A carpet woven in one piece instead of 
in breadths, called to-day a Turkish rug. 

79, 1. Pudding. Not our dessert, but a dish, made chiefly of 
meal, to be eaten with the meat. 

80.1. Ball. A provincial name for pudding. 

2. Amine. The wife of Sidi Nouman in The Arabian Nights. 
She ate only a few grains of rice at meal time, picking them up 
one at a time on the point of a bodkin. This aroused her hus- 
band’s suspicions, and upon investigation he found that she 
feasted every night with a ghoul. 

3. I saw, I imitated, I survived. A reminiscence of Caesar’s 
report of his war in Asia with Pharnaces, son of Mithridates. 
Veni, vidi, vici: I came, I saw, I conquered. 

81, 1. Calashes. See p. 138. 

82, 1. The cedar, etc. Quoted from 

The garden stretches southward. In the midst 
A cedar spreads his dark green layers of shade. 

Tennyson: The Gardener* s Daughter. Is. 114-15 

2. Blackwood. An Edinburgh magazine to which Mrs. Gaskell 
herself contributed. 

83, 1. Black as ash-buds in March. Quoted from 

those eyes 

Darker than the darkest pansies, and that hair 
More black than ash buds in the front of March. 

Tennyson: The Gardener* s Daughter* Is, 26-28 


NOTES 


295 


96, 1. Assize. A session of the courts of justice. 

97, 1. Paduasoy. A rick silk originally woven in Padua, 
Italy. 

99, 1. Dum memor, etc. Aeneid: IV, 336. As long as I am 
conscious, as long as the spirit yet animates my body. 

100, 1. Carmen. Latin, meaning a song. 

2. M. T. Ciceronis Epistolae. Letters of Marcus Tulhus 
Cicero, the great Roman statesman and orator. 

102, 1. Mrs. Chapone. A writer of the eighteenth century 
highly regarded by her contemporaries. Her best known work 
was Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, 

2. Mrs. Carter. Another distinguished woman of the eight- 
eenth century. She was noted chiefly as a hnguist and as trans- 
lator of the Discourses of Epictetus, a Greek stoic philosopher. 
Both she and Mrs. Chapone contributed to Johnson’s Rambler, 

3. I canna be fashed. I cannot be vexed. 

103, 1. Miss Edgeworth. A novehst, contemporary and friend 
of Mrs. Gaskell. 

2. Franks. A frank is the privilege of sending mail free of 
postage. This right is granted to certain government officials, 
formerly to members of Parliament in England and of Congress 
in the United States. 

3. The invasion of Bonaparte. In 1805 there was much talk 
in England of an invasion by Napoleon. Nelson’s victory at 
Trafalgar forced him to abandon any such project. 

106, 1. Apollyon and Abaddon. Respectively the Greek and 
Hebrew names for the angel of the bottomless pit. Revelations 
IX, 11. 

2. Shrewsbury. A noted grammar school on the River Severn. 

106, 1. Bonus Bernardus non videt omnia. The good Bernard 
does not see all things. A Latin proverb referring to the great 
learning of St. Bernard of Clairvaux, a monk of the twelfth 
century. 

107, 1. A living. In England an office in the church is spoken 
of as a living, and the assignment of these positions is often in 
the hands of the lord of the estate. 


296 


NOTES 


109, 1. St. James’s Chronicle. A bulletin concerning the court 
and nobility of England. 

113, 1. Queen Esther and King Ahasuerus. Esther was a 
Jewess who succeeded Vashti as queen of the Persian King 
Ahasuerus, or Xerxes; in this position she afforded protection 
to the Jews. See the book of Esther in the Bible. 

126, 1. Elite. French, meaning select. 

129, 1. Bombazine. A stuff in which the warp is silk and the 
weft worsted. 

130, 1. General officer. The reference is to General Burgoyne, 
who eloped with a daughter of the Earl of Derby. He was the 
author of several popular comedies. 

2. Drury Lane. A famous London theater. 

131, 1. Ci-devant. French, meaning before this, or former. 

133, 1. Mal-apropos. French, meaning irrelevant. 

138, 1. Hogarth’s pictures. Hogarth was a painter and en- 
graver of the eighteenth century, celebrated for his pictures 
satirizing the follies and vices of his time. ^‘The Rake’s Prog- 
ress”, ^‘The Harlot’s Progress”, and Marriage a la Mode” 
are among the best known. 

141, 1. County families. Families owning country estates. 

2. Peerage. A dictionary of the genealogy and heraldry of 
the English nobility. 

149, 1. Louis Quatorze. An elaborate style of furniture and 
interior decoration which originated during the magnificent 
reign of Louis XIV in France. 

2. Pembroke table. A card table much used in England, in 
shape round, square, or oval, with a drawer in the middle and 
leaves at the sides. 

150, 1. Stonehenge. Prehistoric remains near Salisbury con- 
sisting of huge stones set on end around a large limestone 
slab. The old theory that these are remains of a Druid temple 
is now discredited but no new explanation has taken its 
place. 

2. A Lord and no Lord. Professor George Baker suggests 
that this is an allusion to an old ballad listed in the British mu- 


NOTES 


297 


seum. A King and No King is the title of a play by Beaumont 
and Fletcher. 

161, 1. Savoirfaire. A French phrase, meaning knowledge of 
the proper thing to do. 

164, 1. Catholic Emancipation Bill. A measure, passed in 
1829, restoring to Roman Catholics the civil rights as English- 
men which had been taken away from them during the Reforma- 
tion. 

167, 1. Francis Moore. A London doctor and astrologer who 
published an almanac. 

168, 1. Michaelmas. The festival of Saint Michael and all 
angels, celebrated by Roman Catholic and Episcopal churches 
on September twenty-ninth. 

2. Lady-day. The festival of the Annunciation of the Virgin 
on March twenty-fifth. 

169, 1. WombwelFs lions, George Wombwell was a celebrated 
founder and owner of menageries. His first exhibition was one 
of boa-constrictors in 1804. 

161, 1. Minuets de la cour. A French phrase meaning court 
minuets. 

162, 1. Thaddeus of Warsaw. The hero of a popular romance 
by that name, written by Jane Porter. Her sister wrote the two 
novels The Hungarian Brothers and Don Sebastian, This Santo 
Sehastiani may refer to Saint Sebastian, a Roman soldier and 
Christian martyr. 

163, 1. Witch of Endor. The woman soothsayer visited by 
King Saul before his last battle with the Philistines. Cf. I Sam- 
uel XXVIII. 

166, 1. Queen Charlotte. Charlotte Sophia was the name of 
the wife of George the Third. 

2. The Gunnings. Two sisters from Ireland whose beauty 
created a tremendous sensation in London. 

3. Chapeau bras. A French phrase, a military cocked hat. 

172, 1. Bona fide. A Latin expression meaning in good faith, 

genuine. 

174, 1. Madame de Stael. An illustrious French woman and 


298 


NOTES 


author of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. 
Exiled by Napoleon, she was welcomed in Germany and Eng- 
land by the most distinguished people of the time. 

2. Mr. Denon. Probably a French artist and archaeologist, 
who published an account of his travels in Egypt. 

178, 1. Spillikins. Little sticks of bone or wood used in a 
game similar to jack straws. 

2. Where nae men should be. Quoted from an old Scotch 
ballad: 

Ben the house gaed our gudeman 
And ben gaed he. 

And there he saw a sturdy man 
Where nae men should be. 

186, 1. Videlicet. A Latin word, namely; usually abbreviated 
to viz. 

188, 1. Cold-pigged. Dashed with cold water. Pig and piggin 
are colloquial names for a pitcher or water jar. 

189, 1. Dr. Ferrier and Dr. Hibbert. Learned writers on the 
theory of apparitions. 

195, 1. Lord Chesterfield’s Letters. Lord Chesterfield was a 
famous eighteenth-century politician, writer, and man of fashion. 
These letters full of worldly advice, moral instruction, and ele- 
gant diction, written to his son with no intention of publication, 
afford an interesting revelation of the ideals of the time. 

197, 1. Tyrrell. According to tradition. Sir Walter Tyrrell 
shot the arrow that killed William II, known as William Rufus 
while he was hunting in the New Forest. A later Tyrrell was 
employed by Richard III to kill the little sons of Edward in 
the Tower of London. See Shakespeare’s Richard III, IV, iii. 

201, 1. Archdeacon. A deacon appointed by the Bishop to 
manage the business affairs of the church district under his ad- 
ministration. The archdeacon’s directions to his subordinates 
were spoken of as his charges. 

202, 1. I dream sometimes. Cf. Charles Lamb’s Dream Chil- 
dren in the Essays of Elia. 

204, 1. Pice. An Indian coin worth less than a penny. 


NOTES 


299 


207, 1. Aga. A high title among the Moslems. 

2. Great Lama of Thibet. The chief functionary of the Bud- 
dhist religion. 

208, 1. Piece de resistance. A French phrase, meaning the 
most substantial dish of a meal. 

209, 1. Lalla Rookh. An oriental tale in verse by Thomas 
Moore. 

2. Rowland’s Kalydor. A cosmetic much advertised in Eng- 
land. 

210, 1. Surveying mankind, etc. Quoted from 

Let observation with extensive view 
Survey mankind from China to Peru. 

Johnson: Vanity of Human Wishes 

214, 1. Tibbie Fowler, An old Scotch ballad. 

Be a lassie e’er so blate 
Gin she hae the penny siller, 

Set her up on Tintock top, 

The wind will blow a man till her. 

216, 1. Mesalliance. French, unequal marriage. 

220, 1. Welly stawed. A Scotch expression meaning ^‘brought 
to a standstill.” Cf. English stalled. 

236, 1. Rubric. The collection of rules regulating worship in 
the Roman Catholic church. The fact that it is printed in red 
gives the name Rubric, from the Latin ruhrica, which meant 
first, red ochre and later, the title of a law written in red. 

240, 1. “Ah! vous dirai-je, maman?” Quoted from a French 
song. Ah, shall I tell you, mamma? 

241, 1. Globes. Formerly both geography and astronomy 
were taught almost entirely by the use of globes. 

243, 1. Lion couchant. A crouching lion. 

268, 1. Old Hundredth. The familiar doxology, “Praise God 
from whom all blessings flow.” 

276, 1. Baron Munchausen’s Narrative of his Marvellous Travels 
and Campaigns in Russia has caused his name to be connected 
with all exaggerated tales of adventure. 


300 


NOTES 


280, 1. Father of the Faithful. Abraham. 

287, 1. Preston Guild. A guild was a mediaeval association of 
persons engaged in kindred pursuits, chiefly trade and industry, 
for mutual protection and aid. Historical records show that 
Preston had a strong guild in 1328. Since 1542 guild meetings 
have been held regularly every twenty years, even to the present 
time. In the eighteenth century Preston Guild was a center of 
fashionable society. 


QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 


1. What is for you the center of interest in Cranford? 

2. Which character would you most like to know in real life? 

3. Have you a favorite chapter? If so, tell why you prefer that 

particular chapter. 

4. Do you think Mrs. Gaskell would be an agreeable companion? 

5. What is the effect of the abruptness of the opening sentence? 

6. What is the tone of the opening paragraph and to what extent 

is it characteristic of the style of the whole book? 

7. How does Mrs. Gaskell manage to represent the narrator of 

the story as belonging to Cranford society and yet as apart 
from it? 

8. When does the narrator first definitely reveal herself as a 

visitor to Cranford? How long is it then before she tells 
whom she visits? When does she first reveal her name? 
Trace the development of her individuality as the story 
progresses. Prepare a sketch of her as you have come to 
know her by the end of the book. 

9. How far do you think Mary Smith represents Mrs. Gaskell 

herself? 

10. Point out the manner in which the Cranford ladies, at first 
spoken of collectively, are one by one introduced as individ- 
uals. 

11. What character do Chapters III and IV throw into promi- 
nence? 

12. What is accomplished for Miss Matty^s story in Chapter V? 

13. What preparation for later events is there in Chapter VI? 

14. Name all the minor stories that enter into Cranford and show 
how they are related to the story of Miss Matty. 

15. What classes of society are represented in Cranford? 

16. The sixteen chapters of Cranford were originally published as 
eight distinct sketches. Pick out the links by which these 
independent parts are joined into a consecutive whole. 

17. Study also Mrs. GaskelFs method of transition within the 
chapters. 

18. By what methods does Mrs. Gaskell make her characters 
known to the reader? 


301 


302 


QUESTIONS FOR STUDY 


19. In what does the humor of Cranford consist? Illustrate each 
point in your answer by definite reference to the text. 

20. Is Cranford suitable for dramatization? Give the reason for 
your opinion. If you think that it would make an entertain- 
ing play, tell what incidents you would select. 

21. If you have read the Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, point out 
all the resemblances you can find between them and Cranford. 
Which of these books gives you the greater enjoyment and 
why? What place does each hold in the development of the 
novel? 

22. Certain parts of Cranford have been compared to the Essays 
of Elia. Which parts do you suppose these were, and which 
ones of Lamb^s essays do they call to mind? 

23. Read Mrs. Gaskelfis short story Cousin Phillis and compare 
it with Cranford. 

24. Do you know any modern magazine stories or sketches at all 
like Cranford? 

25. Do you know any community with a distinct individuality 
that provides interesting material for a magazine article to- 
day? Try to write such an informal sketch as Cranford — not 
necessarily in Mrs. Gaskelfis manner but in a style suited to 
the community you are to portray, as her style is suited to 
Cranford. Perhaps a visit to an aunt, or a grandmother, may 
provide you with recollections that can be worked into some 
such paper. 

26. Many critics say that Cranford is a classic, that it has the 
qualities that make enduring literature. Discuss this opin- 
ion, giving fully your reasons for agreeing or disagreeing with 
it. 

27. What was the value of Cranford for Mrs. GaskelPs contem- 
poraries? What is its value to present-day readers? More 
especially, what has it added to your individual experience 
that you think worth while? 

• THEME SUBJECTS 

Character sketches of Miss Matty, Miss Pole, Mrs. Jamieson, 
Miss Betsy Barker, Martha, and Captain Brown. 

A portrait of the lordly Mulliner. 

A Cranford tea party. 

The story of ^‘poor Peter 

An original incident that might have been in Cranford. 

A wedding in Knutsford. 

The courtship of Martha and Jem Hearn. 

Cranford from Peter^s point of view. 


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MERRILL’S ENGLISH TEXTS 


Complete Editions 


Addison, Steely and Budgell— The Sir Roger de Coverley 

Papers in “The Spectator” 30 

Browning — Poems (Selected) 25 

Bunyan— Pilgrim’s Progress, Part 1 40 

Bnrke— Speech on Conciliation with America 25 

Byron— Childe Harold, Canto IV, and The Prisoner of t 

Chillon 25 

Carlyle— An Essay on Burns 25 

Coleridge— The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and other 

Poems 25 

Coleridge— The-Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and Eowell 

—The Vision of Sir Eaunfal, Combined 40 

Defoe— Robinson Crusoe, Parti 50 

De Quincey— Joan of Arc, and The English Mail Coach. . .25 

Dickens— A Tale of Two Cities 50 

Eliot, Ceorge— Silas Marner 40 

Emerson— Essays (Selected) 40 

Q-oldsmitli- The Deserted Village, and other Poems 25 

Goldsmith— The Vicar of Wakefield 30 

Gray — ^Elegy in a Country Churchyard, and Goldsmith — 

The Deserted Village, Combined 30 

Hale— The Man Without a Country and My Double 25 

Hawthorne— The House of the Seven Gables 40 

Homer— The Odyssey, Books VI to XIV, XVITE to XXTV 

(English translation) 50 

Irving— The Sketch Book 50 

Damb— Essays of Elia 50 

Lincoln— Selections 25 

Dowell— The Vision of Sir Daunfal, and other Poems 25 

Macaulay— Essays on Lord Clive and Warren Hastings. . .40 

Macaulay— Essay on Samuel Johnson 25 

Macaulay— Days of Ancient Rome, and Arnold— Sohrab 

and Rustum, Combined 30 

Milton— Dycidas, Comus, D’ Allegro, H Penseroso, and 

other Poems 26 

Palgrave— Golden Treasury (Eirst Series) 40 

Parkman— The Oregon Trail 60 

Poe— The Raven, Longfellow— The Courtship of Miles 

Standish, and Whittier— Snow-bound, Combined 26 

Scott— Ivanhoe 50 

Shakespeare — A Midsummer Night’s Dream 25 

Shakespeare — As You Like It 25 

Shakespeare — Julius Caesar 25 

Shakespeare — King Henry V 25 

Shakespeare — ^Macbeth 25 

Shakespeare — Merchant of Venice 25 

Shakespeare — Twelfth Night 25 

Stevenson —An Inland V oyage and Travels with a Donkey . 4 0 

Stevenson— Treasure Island 40 

Tennyson — Idylls of the King 30 

Thoreau — Walden 50 

Washington — Farewell Address, and Webster — ^First and 

Second Bunker Hill Orations 25 


4 





I 



